


Always Another Thing

by k87654321w



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alpha Castiel, Alpha Lucifer, Alpha Michael, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta John, Castiel Saves The Day, Cussing, Drug Addiction, Family Fluff, Friendship, Good Parent John Winchester, Growing Up, Mild Sexual Content, Not Really About Sex Much At All, Omega Adam, Omega Dean, Omega Sam, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Physical Abuse, SLOWEST STORY EVER - BUT IT'LL GET THERE!, School, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 146,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k87654321w/pseuds/k87654321w
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An A/B/O 'verse in which alphas and omegas are rare, their dynamics not widely understood, and mentally-ill, abusive alphas are the "monsters" hunters hunt. John and crew have ample motivation AND complications in their work, because our favorite brothers are both omegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History and Background

**Author's Note:**

> Probably going to be a ridiculously long story, both because short works take more literary skill to do well, and because I'm selfish and just like words and it's my story. Plot aplenty, but also a lot of tangential delving into characters' thoughts and feelings. BEWARE: RUN-ON SENTENCES AHEAD! Will most likely post a glut of chapters once a week or so, on nothing like a regular schedule. I have never posted anything with any kind of sexual content at all before this EVER, so to avoid embarrassing myself, it will be kept fairly mild. Apologies to those hoping for hardcore porn, 'cause this ain't really it. But please, enjoy! Comment! Lemme know how I'm doing! With much gratitude that you're bothering to read this mess at all - The Author

As children, Dean and Sam Winchester seldom ever gave much deep thought to their pitiable, transient lifestyle. Why should they? Even if certain aspects did bother them a little sometimes, to two kids, it was just what was - the way things were. Sam had never known anything different, and Dean had only a very few vague and fuzzy early-childhood memories of a more stable life. But those fleeting, blurry images - of a woman's smile, a homemade pie, a toy racecar - were little more than random brief blips in Dean's dreams. They were too far back, too early to mean much to Dean in his everyday life. So he never really thought on them. The earliest memory that Dean could actually recall with any level of clarity at all was of the night it all came crashing down around them. Nothing previous to that evening would ever be more than a two-second feeling of ill-defined nostalgia, but THAT night would be forever branded into Dean. A stranger, his mother's screams, baby Sammy shoved into his arms, his dad yelling at him to run, police officers, paramedics, his father's inconsolable grief...

Sam didn't remember any of it. Dean did, but really only just THAT night. The weeks, months, and even a year or so afterward were nearly as lost to Dean as the four years before. He could sometimes, on rare occasions, almost remember a little of the confusion that surrounded those early days. Sometimes, when a moment was particularly ripe for it, he would almost remember their dad holding them as all three of them cried together, but...

But not really. All there REALLY was in Dean's head was just that one awful night, fading into the endless slideshow of diners, dingy motels, and public schools scattered across the continental U.S. that had been their life ever since. The road. The Impala. Their dad's few close friends that would let them stay the night after a real supper on holidays. Sam couldn't remember anything else, and for all practical purposes, this was really all Dean knew, too.

They did know why their lives were so different from the other kids they met, even when they were probably still too young to truly and fully UNDERSTAND it. They knew that it was partly that their father was still trying to cope all these years later by going vigilante on evil bastards like the man that had killed their mother. But it was mostly because they were so very like their mother in one unique way, and their father was determined to go to all possible lengths to protect them from a fate like hers. Because Dean and Sam, like their mother before them, were omegas.

Omegas. Just the thought, just the WORD, was enough to make John's heart clench in fear for his sons. As tough as they were, as smart as they were, and as well as he had trained them in every variety of defense and survival tactic he knew or could learn about, the truth remained that his precious boys were still so vulnerable. And it scared John to death. It kept him busy, forever planning to teach them how to use a new weapon, how to perform another type of martial art. Training his boys to defend themselves had long since passed far beyond the level of obsession, but John quietly despaired because he knew that what would likely be their downfall was the ONE thing he couldn't protect them from - their own biochemistry!

Both alphas and omegas were rare. INCREDIBLY rare, to the point of being practically mythical. Maybe not one in a hundred-thousand souls was either. But rare as alphas and omegas were, the numbers of each of these highly distinct sexual designations born were perfectly balanced. Because alphas and omegas, for reasons that scientific inquiry hadn't divulged yet, came into the world paired. For every omega, there was one and ONLY one alpha somewhere with whom they were perfectly genetically and hormonally compatible in every possible biological way. These biochemically-matched pairs were what was meant when people spoke very non-technically of "true mates".

Of course, the fact that specific alphas and omegas were medically perfect for each other did not at all mean that they had to mate and breed with only each other. John, as a beta with two healthy sons by an omega, was proof of that! Most pairs that could DID, but some pairs simply never happened to meet one another, while other pairs chose other partners for themselves for whatever personal reasons they might have. After all, their highly unusual anatomy and physiology aside, alphas and omegas WERE still human beings. Even in the grip of highly specific, hurricane-force sexual urges, they still retained use of the double-edged sword of free will.

But the supremely base and primal urge to mate with their "true mate" was STRONG for one that had smelled the other. For alphas in particular, the drive to claim the omega they matched with was almost overwhelming after catching "their" omega's intoxicatingly "perfect" scent. Their every fiber in every cell was suddenly hyper-attuned to every molecule of the person emitting the aroma that they would invariably find almost as compelling as an addictive drug. The compulsion to join with "their" alpha was only slightly less for omegas - at least until they went into heat. Then, most ANY willing alpha would do!

And THAT was the problem. THAT was what kept John up at night, praying to absolutely anyone that might be listening and cared that he would be able to keep his sons safe. He didn't want them trapped with an abusive alpha. Not all alphas were as sick as the one that stalked Mary for so many years before finally breaking into their house and killing her during a kidnapping attempt, but it seemed that a suspiciously large number of them DID prove outrageously abusive. Doctors thought that the hormone levels that made them alphas in the first place probably made it a much smoother slide into the darkness of becoming sadistic psychopaths. Again, not all alphas turned out that way, but such a large percentage DID that someone just being an alpha was enough to raise warning flags, because their brute strength, rampant sex drive, territoriality, and possessiveness were often scary even to bystanding betas! John didn't want some monster getting hold of his sons. That was the stuff of his nightmares. But an omega in heat would have to put forth a massive amount of effort just to dredge up the strength to say no to someone that wasn't trying to force their will on them. Fighting off a single-mindedly determined alpha would be almost impossible for a much-weaker omega - ESPECIALLY when that omega was crippled with abdominal pain that screamed at them to accept ANYONE'S advances! 

And once the deed was done... Well, then it was done. The poor omega was then all but stuck, because in mating with an alpha, a bond of sorts would form. Regardless of how bad the alpha actually was for them, the omega would NEED them. Of course, being more than a few days without physical contact with their omega was somewhat distressing for the alpha, too, but an omega being away from the alpha they had mated with for a similar period of time would leave them ill, depressed, and even weaker than omegas generally were. Separating the omega from their alpha wouldn't outright kill them - not right away - but it would lower their immune system dangerously. The lack of defense against germs, alongside all the other devastating physical and psychological effects, was enough to guarantee the poor soul a drastically shortened life of dubious quality.

Which was why John had made it one of his life's missions to eradicate mentally unstable alphas - BEFORE they mated with hapless omegas. He did it both in Mary's memory, as a way to avenge her senseless death, and to protect their sons. He was part of a very small, underground network of other like-minded people that shared information and ammo in their quest to pinpoint especially dangerous, threatening alphas that had yet to bond with an omega, and take them out.

The work meant always traveling, always researching, always training, always staying off the government's radar. Because sure, the law was happy to step in and deal with alphas AFTER they had turned into confirmed monstrous abusers, but the largely untouched and beta-dominated society as a whole was loathe to get involved before that. Something about civil and human rights. Which left only the tiny, scattered, and forever-migrating gang of assassins that called themselves "hunters" to do anything about proactively protecting omegas.

And it was in this world that Dean and Sam grew up. Other "hunters" were their adopted aunts and uncles. Strenuous physical exercise and weapons training were their extracurricular activities. Doing background checks and investigating news reports of unsolved crimes that sounded as though they could have been committed by raging alphas kept their minds active over winter breaks. Summers were generally spent with their ex-Marine father teaching them everything he knew about camping, tracking, the outdoors, and just survival in general. NOT that John ever actually let them participate in his "extermination missions". Never! He loved his omega boys too much to ever let them anywhere NEAR a mental-case alpha. But that didn't stop him from putting them both through all the training for it he could - just in case. His precious boys WOULD know what to do if an insane alpha ever came at them!

John may have pushed Dean to learn all this just a bit harder than he pushed Sam. Put a just a bit higher expectations on him. Maybe because Dean was older. Maybe because John had gotten used to depending on Dean to be the responsible one, even though the boy was only four years older than his brother. Maybe because he would always see Sam as that new baby that Mary doted on so just before she died. Or maybe because he could sense that Dean was just the "stronger" of the two, the one closer to a beta in mindset? Because John could sense that. If either of his boys was going be attacked and/or overcome by an alpha, he strongly suspected that it would be Sam. 

Because Sam, in spite of his sometimes loud mouth and occasional bull-headed moments, was temperamentally an almost stereotypical omega. He was sweet, sensitive, and emotional. He grew attached to people, things, and places quickly and hard. He had quiet, bookish habits, and wasn't overly fond of most of the training his father put them through. But most of all, even more so than his brother, Sam CRAVED peaceful routines and security, the kind that would let an omega thrive in preparation for mating and breeding. Poor Sam was desperate for that stability, even if he didn't know or would never be able to articulate just why. And it broke John's heart, that he wasn't able to give that to him without sacrificing his mission to protect him! So instead of pushing Sam harder so he would be better able to protect himself, (which John had doubts would be very effective) John just upped the ante for Dean, constantly directing his mind towards the need to keep Sam safe.

That may not have been fair, but thankfully? Dean never seemed to mind. Or really even notice. He was eager to please his dad, anyway, and caring for Sam came easily to him. He had been doing it ever since that awful night that he fled with him out of the house. His growing-up years were spent helping his dad tend to his younger sibling, so it rapidly became second-nature to him. But then, maybe it wasn't all SECOND nature. After all, he adapted to it so quickly, even as such a little boy. In those lucid moments when John let himself think without bias, he realized that Dean's "mothering" of Sam was probably one of the very few ways that Dean - who generally acted so much like a beta - let his omega-ness show.

John was really just glad he knew that they were omegas, and before it was too late. Betas like him couldn't smell someone's sexual designation before they "presented" somewhere between their 14th and 16th birthdays. Scents were too weak for betas to pick up before then; a beta's sense of smell was nowhere near as acute as that of an alpha or omega. And there was certainly nothing visible to pick up on, either, at least not until "presentation", when alphas grew their knots, and both of the rarer designations developed a fine, thin ring of signifying color around the edge of the iris - red for alphas, a golden hue for omegas. But Mary had been an omega, and so was able to tell within hours of giving birth that the boys were omegas, too. How proud John had been! Healthy boys, both of them, AND omegas? Omegas were unbelievably rare, and here he had sired two of them! A prouder father there never was....

John was still proud. His boys were surely his finest accomplishment. Nothing he had ever done - as a Marine, as a mechanic, or even as a "hunter" - quite compared with raising up those two boys into men. Really. Just look at them! Tall, smart, skilled at everything he could think to teach them, polite and well-behaved young charmers that melded easily into most any and all social circles. And strong - for omegas. OK, so no, they weren't quite as strong as betas (never could be) but they weren't really all THAT far off from it! For omegas, they were phenomenally strong, a testament to his training and conditioning of them. The bit they fell behind betas in the strength department was surely more than made up for by their speed, dexterity, and quick wits. He was so proud of them it ached. He just hoped and prayed that it would be enough. Their weak bodies may not be able to actually push off an alpha once pinned, but maybe, just maybe, they would be able to outrun one before they were ever caught. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to remember and use some technique he had taught them to weasel away somehow, even if they were. But hopefully the weapons they always carried on them when they weren't in school (that he had taught them to use with precision!) would be enough to prevent a sick alpha from approaching them in the first place!

Those were John's constant thoughts, forever playing on repeat, as he dashed across the country dragging his boys from pillar to post. Only now he was also thinking about how much simpler it had all been when they were little! He would have thought it would be harder with toddlers and elementary-school-age kids, that it would get easier as they got older, but raising preschoolers out of the backseat of a car was absolutely NOTHING compared to the headache of dealing with them as teenagers! He often felt like he was trudging through quicksand on cracked stilts - he just had NO idea what he was doing, and didn't really feel like he was getting anywhere! And the chaos STARTED when Dean was 14...


	2. Heat #1

John had been married to an omega, and had known that his boys would be omegas, too. You would have thought that he would've seen it coming, but no. Dean's first heat was an unexpected seismic upset. Maybe John just hadn't let himself think about it. He hadn't wanted to prepare for the upheaval his sons' heats would bring on. Plus? It was just... weird. It was nearly as uncomfortable for John as it was for Dean. Omegas were rare, period; male omegas were almost unheard of. Despite knowing years ahead of time what his sons were, it still shook John's world to suddenly be forced to face their... well, their almost feminine sexuality. His eldest now had a cycle, for crying out loud! Standing in a tacky green-and-orange motel room, looking down at Dean who was writhing and groaning on a bed absolutely drenched in his fluids while burning up with fever, pawing at himself? John missed Mary more than ever. 

Mary would have known what to do with this, she could have handled it so much better. Mary's heats he had been able to ease somewhat. All he'd really needed to do to make her feel better was just start making love to her - which was always an easy enough thing for John to fall into even when she wasn't in heat and rabidly desperate for it. Even without being able to smell all her subtle pheromone enticements, he'd always thought she was the sexiest thing on the planet. They had been married, so he could call in to work and just stay home and bang his wife for three days - and make sure she drank plenty of water in between goes. Mary's heats had been a thing he'd looked forward to! But Dean was his son. That method of dealing with heats wasn't an option here - not in his mind. He knew that there were people out there that DID go the incestuous route to help close, unmated omega relatives, but John wasn't going to be one of them. Dean was his little boy. Nothing about his SON turned him on, even if the kid did look a bit like Mary when the light hit him just right. But even beyond that, John was a beta that was very decidedly straight. And Dean? Dean was a guy. A guy with feminine insides, sure, but a guy all the same. NOT happening....

So even though John defended omegas for a "living", he was stumped. He racked his brain, and came up with almost nothing. Calling a doctor didn't give him any information he didn't already know - just that he should keep the room cool, watch for signs of dehydration, and make sure Dean ate at least a little something, even if he didn't have an appetite. Well, duh! Maybe they could tell him something else even MORE obvious. John was half tempted to go into medical practice himself, if it didn't take any more brains than that. Good grief. They must just let any young imbecile get a licence to practice these days...

What John really wanted to know was how to ease his son's pain. He knew full-well that nothing would completely alleviate it except an alpha's knot. Being only a knot-less beta, he had never been able to fully satisfy Mary, either - their 3-day-long sex marathons had only held the worst of her discomfort at bay, had merely dampened her symptoms down to bearable levels so that she wasn't totally miserable. Not for lack of trying on John's part! He had always given it a valiant go! But when it came right down to it, there wasn't anything that could completely relieve a heat except an alpha. And John knew that, but he wouldn't dream of letting an alpha anywhere near his underaged son in this condition. Neither Dean's age nor his medically-compromised state of mind would allow him to properly consent - not that John was going to go searching for a willing alpha even if Dean could. Nuh, uh. So what could John do?

The useless doctor on the phone said he could try giving Dean a mild pain-reliever, like a "baby" aspirin, though it probably wouldn't do much good. Anything much stronger than that would just upset his stomach and add to his misery. So John gave Dean two of them, sighed deeply, and sat back to wait...

He suddenly remembered his other son, and swivelled his head to look for him. Poor 10-year-old Sam was curled up bug-eyed in the chair by the window, arms wrapped around his knees, staring at his brother and looking absolutely terrified. John got up to walk over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam jerked his head up and stared at his father for a minute, before whispering, "Is Dean gonna be okay?"

John caught himself sighing again. That seemed to be about all he was capable of, today, and little did he know just how much more of it he'd be doing! "Yeah. He'll be alright, Sam. It looks and sounds awful, I know, but it's just a heat. Dean'll survive. We just gotta stay put and make sure he drinks a lot for the next few days, and he'll be just fine." He tried to smile. "Even the doctor I called said so, so don't worry." Sam looked at his brother for a moment, before turning back to his Dad again. Still whispering in that same frightened tone, he asked, "Is that gonna happen to me...?"

John rubbed his face, cussing on the inside. Damn, did he wish Mary was here for this! Making an abrupt decision, he quickly pulled Sam to his feet, sat on the chair himself, and tugged Sam back down onto his lap. He hadn't held Sammy this way as much the last couple years - the boy was growing up - but the poor kid was scared to death, and the conversation they were about to have was intimate enough to justify it. Kissing Sam's hair, he took just a moment to organize his thoughts, trying to think of what all his son likely already knew, and what all he still needed to make sure the kid heard from someone at home, first.

"Yeah, Sam. It'll happen to you, too. It's a heat. Omegas like you and your brother have 'em twice a year after you present. But I don't want you to be scared, though. I promise you, Dean will be fine. And when it happens to you, you'll be fine, too. Bad as this seems, it really is normal. Natural." Another sigh. "Most heats won't be as bad as this one. This one is just extra-awful, because it's Dean's first one. He's in the middle of presenting. His body's changing right now, becoming an adult's body, and unfortunately, it's pretty rough going this time 'til he gets all the way there. It won't be quite so bad for him from now on, though." 

Sam was watching him with wide, trusting eyes. He was obviously still a little scared, but he was also taking in what John was telling him. He nodded, turning to look again at his brother. Dean was moaning loudly, holding his abdomen as he lay there humping the air, sticking fingers up his rear. John swore silently. He didn't really like subjecting little Sammy to his brother's pornographic displays, but what was there to do about it? They were in a motel. Sam was too young to put in a room by himself, and needed his father's reassurances, besides. And John could only give that to him here, since he had to stay here for Dean. Dean was nearly as helpless as a newborn right now. His normally boisterous teenager was sick, weak, unable to defend himself or even think clearly. Dean had only just barely been able to make his feet work well enough to walk in the door earlier - John had had to all but carry him in. It was obvious that he would need to be reminded to eat and drink, as it was already a couple hours past the time they normally ate supper, and always-hungry Dean hadn't said a word about it - a SURE sign that something was wrong. He probably wouldn't even get up to go to the bathroom until he absolutely had to, on the verge of an accident. He was just too far gone with pain and lust to care for himself properly. John had to be here to care for Dean, to stand guard over him, and there was nothing for it but to drag young Sam along for the show.

But as much as John hated it, it was probably for the best. Sam was likely only about four or five years away from this, himself. Maybe it was better that he know what to expect ahead of time. That, and his sons were close, probably a lot closer than most brothers, and keeping Sam away would probably just stress both of his boys out unnecessarily. There was no one nearby enough to take Sam for a couple days, anyway. They were over a hundred and fifty miles away from the nearest person that John might have trusted to watch Sam. No, there was nothing for it....

Sam turned to him again. "So what do we do?" Well. If that wasn't the $64,000 question! But John just rolled his shoulders, kissed the top of Sam's head again, and said, "We do just what I said. We stay here for a few days, and watch after him. We keep it cool in here for him, make sure he eats a little and drinks a lot. We just make sure he's safe and has what he needs until this passes. Then we'll clean up, pack up, and hit the road again, just like before. OK?" Sam nodded, eyes still on his brother, hugging John's arms that were wrapped around his waist. John smiled at that, squeezing him back. He probably ought to go push a bottle of water down Dean in a few minutes, but for the moment? He was almost content just to sit here and hold his younger boy.

Sam was actually a big help over the next couple days. Dean was usually an obedient kid, but there were moments when he just wasn't thinking at all, when he just wouldn't listen, didn't want to open his mouth and take a bite of something even though he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours, or when he flailed away when his dad tried to help him clean off a little. John was trying so hard to be patient, knowing that Dean was sick, that the boy wasn't trying to be defiant and obnoxious. It was in those moments that he was grateful for Sam's presence. Sam could cut through the heat and get Dean to listen, even when John couldn't. Dean would eat half a sandwich for Sam. Would stop jerking and lay (mostly) quietly when Sam asked him to hold still, so their dad could wash him off where he was coated in layers of his own dried fluids. Thank God for Sam, John thought. When he wasn't busy laying cool rags on his big brother's forehead and neck, trying to talk sense into him, Sam mostly stayed out of the way, curled up with some book borrowed from a library three states back. But he also spent time talking to his dad. Oddly enough, slow moments during Dean's heat were probably the most time Sam and John had spent one-on-one, just the two of them, since before Sam started Kindergarten. It was nice, in a bizarre way - even with Dean's lewd moaning in the background.

After just a little over 72 hours, it was finally over. And after another day of rest and water, Dean was humiliated.

"Ughhh... Dad, I... I'm SO sorry...." John smiled, clapping Dean on the back as the boy walked out of the bathroom, still buttoning his shirt after the first shower he'd had in four days. "Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo. Medical issue, was all it was." Dean shuddered. "But DAD, I just freaking laid there, wanking away with you and Sammy staring at me. And what all did I even say?" John grinned even bigger. "Didn't actually say much at all. Mostly just grunted and groaned." Dean groaned again, at that. John squeezed his shoulder and continued, "Nothing to be ashamed of. It's just what omegas do, just what happens. Your mother did it, every other omega in the world does it, now you do it. It's all right, son. Its just fine. We all lived." Dean plopped down in a chair. They could hear Sam turn the water on to take himself a shower, though it hadn't been nearly so long without for him. Dean put his head in his hands. "Dad. I'm gonna die. Sam saw all that. Gonna die of fucking embarrassment, 's fucking awful..."

"HEY!", John interrupted, punctuating his exclamation with a sharp smack to Dean's thigh. "Language! Don't need to hear you talking like that. Keep it civil." Dean rubbed his thigh, baleful eyes on John. "Yes, sir..." John sighed, pulling up the other chair in front of Dean. "Now look here. Listen. I know you're embarrassed, but you don't need to be. You did nothing wrong. You were ill, you couldn't help it. Every omega ever goes through it. It's just one of those normal, natural things. And you might as well accept that now, because it's not gonna stop. It's gonna happen twice a year for most of the rest of your life - until you're an old man older than me." 

Dean dropped his head, rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, but... Sammy saw all that...", he muttered. John sighed again. Sighing was his life, now. "Yeah, Dean, Sammy saw all that. But you still don't have anything to be embarrassed about. Again, you were sick. You couldn't help it. Nobody's holding it against you, or over you. Not me, not Sam. Sam was actually pretty worried about you, it scared him. You might not remember all of it, but he helped you out a lot. Got you to eat and drink when you wouldn't even do it for me. So he's not gonna be ragging you any about it." John paused. "At least, he better not be. I hear any smart comments out of him, and he'll answer to me. I won't put up with you boys teasing each other about being sick." He stopped and smiled. "But I don't believe you're gonna have to worry about that."

Dean toed the carpet, spoke softly. "Just wish... Wish I hadn't been such a hassle. Musta been gross. And I'm sorry I didn't eat for you, Dad." John lifted Dean's chin to look at him. "Again, son, you were sick. Don't turn me into a mina bird, 'cause you know I don't like repeating myself. It's fine. It's just what happens. And this here? Is the last I'm gonna hear on the subject. It's all over and done with, for six months, anyway. Not another word about you feeling sorry or embarrassed. You understand me?" Dean blinked, unable to nod his head. "Yes, sir." John smiled, let go of Dean's chin, and patted his arm. "Good. Then get ready to go. Your brother gets out, I'll get ME a shower, and then we'll go get something to eat. There's a waffle place right up the road, sound good to you?" Dean lit up at that. "Yeah, Dad. Waffles sound awesome!" Ah. There was John's boy back!


	3. Preventative Measures

And so they went right back to everything they'd been at before, right back to their life as it was, with only a very few modifications. There was only one change Dean really squawked and balked at...

"NO WAY! Dad, no! Please. You can't be serious! Dad, I'm gonna melt and die, that is humiliating, you can't even do that to me..." Dean was on the verge of a complete and total meltdown. He might actually lose it. "Dad, I can't do that! I know I'm an omega, but I'm not a GIRL! PLEASE, Dad, no!" They were standing in a motel room somewhere in Iowa early the first Monday morning after Dean's heat was over, John holding a package of something he had bought at a dollar store the day before. He'd known Dean wouldn't like it, and so hadn't let him see it in the store, infinitely preferring to handle the fit he knew Dean would throw in privacy. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, prayed for strength and patience. They had already been arguing this point for well over thirty minutes, and John was running out of new things to say. "Dean, I know you don't like this. I didn't think you would, and really I don't blame you. There's no reason you should like it, but there's plenty of good reasons why you should do what I'm telling you to do. It might be humiliating, but NOT wearing one could be even worse. You wanna be walking down the hall, suddenly looking like you just wet yourself, or do you wanna suck it up - like a MAN - and just wear the damn thing that no one but me and Sammy'll know you've got on, anyway?"

Yep, John had gotten the boys up almost two hours earlier than usual, just so they'd be sure to have enough time to deal with this. He knew it would be a major battle, but he was trying to break it to him easy. This had to be at least as awkward for him as it was for Dean, but this was just how it had to be. He wasn't gonna be running back and forth to the school every few days, bringing Dean fresh clothes. He wasn't gonna listen to Dean moaning about how mortified he was about something that was completely preventable. Dean had had wandering eyes long before he presented as an omega, had ever since he'd first started to go through normal, beta-style puberty 3 years ago. John knew that there was no way his warm-blooded son was gonna be able to go through an entire day at a brand-new high school without getting at least a little turned-on by somebody he saw, at some point. And that's when Dean would have a problem, because omegas produced copious amounts of slick when aroused. Not a few drops of slick, like a beta female might. Enough slick that probably before Dean even realized it was happening, much of the seat of his pants would be soaked through. THAT would be humiliating for him, and it would get John a call from the school, asking him to either take Dean home, or bring him new clothes. The best way to prevent all that? Dean needed to wear a menstrual pad.

"But DAD, those are for GIRLS! AND I AM NOT A GIRL!!!" John resisted the urge to laugh. For someone that didn't want to be like a girl, Dean sure was shrieking like one! Sam took that moment to butt in with, "Dean. You're not a girl. You're gonna use it for a totally different reason than a girl would. I mean, yeah, it's the same thing, but you're puttin' it to a different use, you know?" Dean was so upset he was shaking, he was actually on the verge of tears. "But... come on! It's so freaking girly. It doesn't even get any girlier than that. Dad, please don't make me wear that! You might as well just cut my stinkin' balls off!" Lord have mercy... John sighed, tried to think what to say. He was half tempted to just throw his hands up, let Dean go to school as he was. But there was a reason he wasn't going to do that. Whether today, tomorrow, or next month, at some point Dean would be grateful that he insisted. As terrible as Dean currently thought this was, he was sure it wouldn't compare with Dean's conniption after a girl he was busy hitting on turned away, because everyone on that side of the building was suddenly pointing at his wet pants. Dean may think he was being cruel, but he was just trying spare his son some heartache. Try explaining that to the hyperventilating teenager, because John had already tried. Repeatedly.

John just sighed, again, before hardening his eyes and turning his "strict parent" voice on. "Dean, I've already explained this to you, multiple times, in multiple ways. We've been standing here the better part of an hour, already. You know why I'm telling you to do this. You know that I'm not trying to emasculate you, that I'm trying to help you. This is for your benefit, and that's not just something I'm saying to convince you to listen to me. Mostly because you know that I don't bribe or sweet-talk, anyway. Having wasted half the morning repeating myself, I am now done. I've talked about it all I aim to talk, Dean, so listen up. Now, you can either take this and put it on yourself, or you can let me do it for you, if your pride really just won't let you go there on your own. I'm willing to help you out like that this morning, just because this is new and I know you're freaking out. It's your choice, but either way, you're wearing it. End of discussion."

There actually were tears, now. Dean seriously almost never cried, so this showed just how much it was actually distressing him. But there wasn't much for it, because Dean really just needed to wear the thing. He had to go to school, and John wasn't about to deal with what he knew would happen if Dean tried to go without it. Even Dean, himself, knew what could happen from experience already, because they had already dealt with it. The morning after his heat that they had gone for waffles, Dean had tried flirting with the cute waitress serving them - the fact that she was at least six years his senior notwithstanding. She'd turned around, started to walk away, bent to pick something up that she'd dropped on the floor, and Dean had gasped. Not at her, but at his body's reaction to her. He hadn't noticed the first few oozes as they'd spoken, but he'd certainly noticed the gush of slick when she bent over. That had been embarrassing for all three of them. Finishing their food quickly, Sam had tried to shield Dean's back from view as Dean raced out the door to the Impala, while John had paid the bill. Rushing back to the motel, John had tried his best to calm Dean down and explain it for both the boys. Poor Sammy was confused by the talk. He fully comprehended the mechanics of it, but was still young enough that he had only just recently sort of half started to understand what "arousal" or being "turned on" even was or meant. Sam mostly took away from it that omegas leak fluids when they think about certain types of things or look at people in certain ways, and that it was normal and healthy, and might actually be a good thing someday if they ever wanted to have babies, because it would make it easier. Dean understood more than that, of course, even if his confusion was over why his body would react the way it would need to for a man, if he was looking at a woman. John strung something together about Dean's body not being able to tell the difference, and just automatically preparing for both or either. The whole thing was awkward as hell, but the point is that Dean knew. John shouldn't have had to explain much of anything that morning, because Dean had already lived through what John was trying to prevent. He was just being proud, the stubborn boy.

So Dean was actually crying now, but John would have none of it. Dean had been upset when they'd left that restaurant, too, but that happening at a school that he would stay at for a few weeks at least would be a thousand times worse. Plus, John had stuff to do today. No time to run back and forth. He had sons to raise, yes, but he also had a job to do, and no teenaged, inflated-ego, "I-wanna-be-macho" identity crisis was going to hold him up today. Or any OTHER day! Dean started to complain and beg some more. "PLEASE, Dad. Just let me try to go without it, maybe I can wear two pairs of underwear or something, I don't know, but ju-"

"DEAN. I said I was DONE. Forty-five minutes of debate is enough. You've now got exactly ten seconds left to make up your mind how this is gonna go, before I spank you. Because one way or another, boy, you're wearing this!" Dean and Sam were both gaping, but John was serious. He honestly tried not to resort to physically punishing his boys very often, trying to be as reasonable as their lifestyle permitted. But John DID expect his sons to obey him. Fifty-minute-long arguments were outrageous, in his book. He had been more than patient, had made all the overtures he could see fit to make. But now it was time to go, and so time to put an end to it. He was the parent, and this was a fight he was going to win!

But thankfully, it didn't come to that. No sooner had a gawking Sam whispered, "Just do it, Dean...", than Dean blurted out a quick "Yes, sir", snatched the pad John held, and ran into the bathroom. Slamming the door on his way, of course. John let go a breath he hadn't known he'd held, immensely relieved. That had taken entirely too long. Maybe that was his fault, for going soft. He had known this would be a fight, but he hadn't really wanted to push that hard at the start. He didn't want to make Dean miserable first thing in the morning, starting a new school, nor did he want to make Dean resent his omega-ness. But John had never before let an argument or any other type of opposition or defiance go on that long. His word was law in the Winchester household, and that wasn't going to change just because his sons were growing up and having body-image issues, or whatever. If anything, their presentation as omegas would make it all the MORE necessary for John to hold tight to the reins. Dean may still feel exactly as bold as he did before, but in truth, he was in a very delicate position now. He was highly vulnerable, at risk in ways he probably couldn't even conceive of yet. So it was John's job to protect him and care for him, whether Dean liked it or not. And it was Dean's job to obey him! So if he had to threaten to spank to elicit cooperation... so be it!

A couple minutes later, Dean shuffled slowly out of the bathroom, head down, sniffling. Looking absolutely pathetic. John's lips quirked up - damn it, how was he supposed to stay tough on a kid that looked like somebody'd just stole his lollipop? By not saying a thing about it, that's how. Sam was already entirely too skilled at turning the "puppy-dog eyes" on whenever it suited his own cause, so it would never do to let Dean know that he was adorable when thwarted, too. Nope. Instead, John turned an impassively authoritative gaze on his eldest, asking quietly, "Are you wearing it?" Dean nodded about as slowly as it was possible for someone to nod. John, disinclined to trust his son after that morning's ridiculous showdown, stepped into the bathroom to take a glance around, even lifting the lid on the toilet tank. After all, you never knew what a kid might try to pull. As badly as Dean had wanted to not wear the thing, he'd half expected the boy to try flushing it. But he hadn't heard a flush, there were no pads anywhere in the bathroom, and he could see that it wasn't in the kid's pocket. All the same, he ran a finger around Dean's waistband and lifted the hems of his jeans, before finally just running a quick hand between Dean's legs to feel for it. Yep. Kid was wearing it. A very good thing for Dean that he was, too.

Meanwhile, Dean's face was finally coming 'round from looking like somebody'd killed his beloved pet, to just a mild irritation that his dad didn't believe him, and would actually check. John snorted. As if he WOULDN'T check, after the hissy-fit that had just been thrown! But now they still had more than a few minutes before they had to leave, so he just pulled his problem child to him for a hug. John wasn't really inclined to be that much of a hugger, especially now that the boys were growing up, but he knew that physical contact was particularly important for omegas. It steadied them, eased them, helped them feel secure, so John was prepared to step just a bit outside his comfort zone for his sons' sakes. Besides, he could tell it was rough on Dean, who had always wanted so much to be a man's man, just like his dad. Poor kid had thrown his everything into trying to be tough as nails, tough as they came - even though as an omega, he could probably be beaten in an arm-wrestling match by any reasonably stout girl. Poor kid. He was all boy, though, omega or not, into cars, guns, and classic rock. Pads, unfortunately, didn't really seem to fit anywhere into that equation. John breathed out into Dean's hair, squeezing the back of the boy's neck before pulling him away again and pecking him on the temple. "It'll be just fine, Dean. Just fine. I'd never tell you to do anything that wouldn't be." He patted Dean's shoulder. "Amazing, really. Still alive and kicking. Seems like following my orders WON'T kill you, or shrivel your manhood." John grinned at Dean's sour expression. "Well, get your stuff, let's get out to the car."


	4. School Forms

Grabbing jackets and backpacks, they piled into the Impala. Sam was sensitive enough to not squabble with his brother over the shotgun seat that morning. Pulling out, they found a donut shop, where John hurriedly snagged two of every kind they made (along with four of those seasonal blueberry-hazelnut-pumpkin-spice muffins with the wheat germ topping that Sammy loved and wouldn't have to share with uninterested Dean) and three orange juices, plus a large coffee for himself. The boys had them nearly all eaten by the time they reached the local high school. They were early, almost 45 minutes early, because of all the registration paperwork that would have to be done both here and at the middle school. There was also the added bother this time around of making sure that Dean's records were amended to include the fact that he was a presented omega.

It wasn't necessary to have a kid's sexual designation officially notated in their school records. Neither the law nor any school district's policies required it. Sex and/or gender discrimination in any form had been illegal for years, so most people didn't see the need to single a child out that way, even if only to the staff. But most people were betas, with children that were betas. Many small towns were full of nothing BUT betas. And betas never had to worry about the things that omegas did. But John did see the need to inform the school, because only if he turned in an official, notarized statement from two doctors AND signed the designation-recognition paperwork would a child be eligible for any special protections, assistance, or exemptions. The fact that Dean was an omega couldn't be hidden, paperwork or not, but being accomodated accordingly was not something that came automatically. School days missed for heats were only excused twice a year IF the paperwork was done - otherwise, those eight days (two for recovery) would just take up most of the student's allowed sick days. Having Dean's records updated that way would also entitle Dean to more security than was generally awarded students. John wanted to be sure he could count on the staff to supervise Dean closely, to make sure he was escorted by non-alpha students when he went through the halls between classes, and to beware seating or allowing Dean to seat himself too close to known alphas. Those were special accomodations for their most vulnerable students that schools would only award if compelled to by a completed and signed Form A/B/O-0123. It was supposed to be strictly in confidence, so none of the other students should know, (though kids always had ways of finding that stuff out, who where they kidding?) but every stinking employee in the building would know, and be legally obliged to extend extra effort towards keeping the recognized student safe. Given their family history, and what John did for a "living", that was a precaution he would not fail to take!

Dean was actually glad his dad was doing it. He knew it was taking up extra time this morning, but everything about being an omega seemed to take extra time, anyway. He hadn't really thought about it until they pulled up in front of the school, but as they walked toward the front door, Dean suddenly realized that he really did want the right to claim special help and exemptions. The thing that popped to mind first was changing for PE. Dean had never been to this particular school before, but he knew most of them would want him to go off into a room full of lockers with other guys and get changed. That had never been an issue before, but now there was the stupid pad in his underwear his dad was making him wear. He definitely did NOT want anyone else noticing that! Kids could be cruel enough over even the most minor differences. Them finding out that a guy was wearing a pad? Hmm, no, he couldn't see that turning out well. Being able to tell the teacher that he was uncomfortable changing in front of others, and his dad signing a form making sure they'd pay attention to that? Yeah. That'd be good. This he wouldn't protest...!

Walking in, it was the tidal wave of smells that made Dean almost want to curl into his dad's side. He and Sam had always had stronger senses of smell than average - just one of those things about being an omega. But now that he'd presented? It was the most overwhelming sensory overload he'd ever experienced! He'd been presented for almost a week, now, but those first three days he'd been too preoccupied with his heat to pay attention to anything else. The couple days since had mostly just been him, Dad, and Sammy, either in the Impala, or just the three of them in a motel room, and he was used to and liked his family's scents. Well, they'd been out to eat a few times, too, but they tended to do that at hours when there were few other customers there, and at restaurants the emphasis was on the smell of food. But now, walking into the school and down the hall towards the office, Dean felt smothered by human scents of every variety. How could he be suffocating this way? Almost nobody was even here, it was early, school hadn't started yet! OK, so maybe it was residual scents from the day before. But didn't janitors clean once the day was done? Seriously, they needed to do their job. Dean thought he was gonna gag, or have a coughing fit, or something. This place absolutely stunk, literally. Dad wasn't really gonna make him go here, was he? He couldn't hardly breathe. This place had to be some kind of biohazard, they were probably getting ready to condemn the joint. He looked up at his dad, honestly half expecting him to turn them around and leave. Dean knew his dad couldn't smell as well as he could, but this house of horrors was so potent that surely even a beta would be appalled. But his dad just kept walking - and breathing normally - as though everything was hunky-dory. Confused, Dean turned to Sam.

"Hey, Sam. You... you smell that?" Sam looked thoughtful, as he asked, "Cleaning chemicals? Paper? Floor wax? Or sweat?" Sam had always been better at actually identifying what they smelled. Dean nodded vigorously, as their dad watched them curiously. John could only just barely catch a hint of the floor wax spoken of. None of the rest of it registered for him. "Yeah, sweat. Like, everyone on Earth's sweat all mixed together. Nasty. This place is gross..." Sam frowned, sniffing openly now, trying to pay closer attention, saying, "I mean, yeah, there's a lot of it, but... it's not the worst smell ever, Dean. I don't know if nasty's really the word..." Dean shook his head. "No, dude. I'm telling you, it's nasty. All those nasty people. OK, a couple nice woman smells, too, but mostly a whole lotta seriously gross dude." Dean turned to his father. "Dad, can you smell it? Dad, this place is beyond nasty. Every kind of gross!" John eyed his eldest. "Well, now that you've used the words "nasty" and "gross" so many times in such quick succession, I'll just be forced to agree and keep you out with me, won't I?"

Dean sighed, recognizing a warning to stop when he heard one. Didn't stop him from mumbling, "IS gross, Dad. Like, sick nasty..." John grunted. "I don't doubt it. A building swarming with hundreds of adolescents five days a week is bound to smell less than rosy. But I don't think it'll actually make you sick, Dean." He continued quietly after a moment with, "Your mother never liked the smell of crowded places, either. Said it was confusing, because it was hard to tell whose smell was whose. Felt like she'd get lost. But I guess that's what your other senses are for, huh?" There was no time to discuss it further, though, because there they were at the office door.

The receptionist was a bubbly, heavy-set middle-aged lady with too much blue eyeshadow, gigantic fake pearls, and even bigger helmet-hair. She was entirely TOO bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for so early in the morning. The prospect of a new student seemed to make her day, and she gushed over what a "handsome young fella" Dean was, and how sure he was to make friends right away. Only his dad standing there kept Dean from rolling his eyes and saying something to change her good opinion of him. She must have thought she was real original, remarking on how high schoolers just got younger and younger as she winked at Sam, offering him a Tootsie Roll. Sam didn't seem bothered by any of it in the least, but Dean was jealous. Where the hell was HIS Tootsie Roll?

A few minutes of paperwork and receptionist-lady chatter later, John finally asked for a Form A/B/O-0123. Ms. Receptionist, who hadn't stopped yammering since they walked in, went stock-still, and dead-silent. There was a long, awkward pause. John cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd like to complete a Form A/B/O-0123, now, please..." The lady seemed to awaken, fluttering her hands and sighing deeply. "Why, yes, yes, sir, Mr. Winchester, absolutely. Let me get one for you, where are they?" She turned awkwardly, fumbling through the shelf behind her desk. "Ah, yes. Here you go, here's one." She handed it to John, looking nervous. "I must say, I've worked here twenty-four years, never handed a parent one of those before. Had a couple transfer students come in with them, but never pulled a new one off the shelf, before..." As John began filling it out, she leaned forward slightly, peering at Dean's eyes. He blushed and turned his head to look at his dad's boots, hearing her mutter, "Well. Gold. I guess he IS one. I didn't even notice. Don't look so close, you'd just think hint of hazel..." A little louder, she asked John, "Omega, right?" He nodded curtly, handing her both the form, and the notarized statements from the two unaffiliated doctors they'd visited the day before. "I'll need the originals back, please." Ms. Receptionist nodded. "Of course! Let me go make copies. Be right back." She shuffled off through a doorway, leaving the three Winchesters standing there looking at each other. Huh. Well...

She came back a couple minutes later with the statements AND the principal, a fat, balding man in a mis-matched suit who came around the counter with a hand out in greeting. "Mr. Winchester? D. Cauldrey, principal. How are you today, sir?" John straighted to his full height, shook the proffered hand. "Just fine, thank you." The fat man then slapped that same hand down onto Dean's shoulder, making him flinch. "And this is the new omega student, I take it?" John answered for him, "Yes, this is my eldest. Dean. 9th-grader." Fat man nodded. "Yes, she said that." He patted Dean's shoulder slightly, to get his attention. "Hello, Dean. Here, look up for me. We'll need a photo of you and those special new eyes of yours, OK?" Dean half choked - Patronizing fucker... He looked up at his dad, who nodded slightly. Fat man patted his shoulder again. "OK! Up against that wall, look straight out, eyes open wide, alright?" Dean was steaming again, (what the fuck was this, a mugshot?) but before he even had a chance to respond, his dad's hands pushed him back against the wall, tugging his chin up. "I'll be right beside that camera. Eyes on me, sport." OK, okay. Eyes on Dad. Dean could handle that...

One disorientingly bright white camera flash later, from SO much closer to his face than pictures were usually ever taken, (did this camera not have a zoom function?) and Dean felt himself being pulled into a quick hug by his dad, who reminded him to behave himself, and that he would pick him up at 2:45. Then Sammy gave him a squeeze, telling him to have fun, and tell him all about it later. His family walked out the door, and Dean was escorted to the library, where he was handed his schedule, introduced to the librarian, and told to find himself something to read for the next 30 minutes until the bell rang and the day got started. Dean sighed, obediently grabbed the book closest to him, and sat down staring blankly at its pages, wondering what this place would be like...


	5. School and Work

John and Sam walked back out to the Impala. Unlocking the door, John watched Sam bounce into the passenger seat. Shotgun had largely become Dean's spot the last few years, unless he wanted to get in the back to stretch out and sleep, so Sam was tickled no end at having it to himself for a few minutes this morning. John turned the radio off as he turned left to get back onto the highway for the short 5-and-a-half-mile drive across town to the middle school.

Sam chattered away almost the entire way there. He hoped the teachers would be nice, hoped he could sit near the front, hoped there were art classes, unlike the last school that hadn't had any. He hoped the water-fountain water was actually cold, and that he could get a locker on top, so nobody could drop anything on his head when he went to get his stuff. John chuckled at that, trying to remember what he had hoped for out of school at that age. All he could really recall was hoping that he could get a seat near the heater in winter, and that there wouldn't be spinach for lunch. That, and that nobody would scuff up the shiny new shoes he'd gotten for his birthday, the ones that were in style and all the rage that year. Telling that to Sam earned him a smile. 

John was glad to see his boy so happy. Sam actually LIKED school, unlike Dean, whose opinion of the institution ranged from "annoying but necessary" on good days to "cruel and unusual punishment" on others. Sam, though, ate it up, put forth real effort, and thrilled his teachers, even doing his homework without having to be reminded. His grades invariably did them proud.

John strongly suspected that there was more to it than just a love of learning. He was fairly certain that the REAL appeal was the structure it provided. Omegas needed stability and order in their lives, even more so than most children did. Dean had always just accepted that his dad and Sammy WERE his structure, that his family WAS his organizing principle and purpose, but it was mostly school that did for Sam now what Mary's precise feeding and napping schedule had done for the boys when they were tiny - it made Sam's day predictable, so that he could anticipate what was going to happen and PLAN OUT how he would please his authority figures. John had always tried his best to keep certain little daily rituals consistent, but Sam obviously needed a little something more. Sam was still a bit young to prove himself useful in many of the ways that Dean was starting to, but school was something the kid could throw himself into wholeheartedly. Bringing home all As on his quizzes and report cards was Sam's way of trying to earn the praise he heard lavished on Dean for other things that he wasn't quite as keen on. Sam wanted his dad's approval, too, even though he didn't really like sparring or target practice, and couldn't yet cook quite as well as Dean did - when a motel suite even HAD a kitchenette. John was aware of this, and so made sure to always take an extra moment to glance over Sam's work and tell the boy 'well done' - even though half the time, he really wasn't entirely sure just what it was he was even looking at. It had been so many years since he'd been in school, himself, that Sam's name and the big red A at the top were usually the only parts that meant anything to John. But hey, as long as Sam was doing well...!

What made John sick was that he could see much the same pattern in the horrifically abused omegas he helped rescue from time to time. So long as they could be reasonably certain of the mistreatment occurring regularly, at approximately the same time and place and in much the same ways, many of the omegas John dealt with were frequently unwilling to admit that they were even experiencing abuse at all! Unless the alpha just took it way TOO far, 'til it was just absolutely undeniable, the omega would often simply shrug it off as just an unpleasant segment of their routine. And routines must absolutely be kept to!

It wasn't that omegas were stupid - not at all! His Mary had been an intelligent woman, and both of their boys were obviously bright. It was just the way they were wired. Adherence to schedules was a coping mechanism, a way for them to deal with their generally fragile and tentative state. That didn't rule out an omega enjoying a little spontaneity from time to time, because they often did, but a foundational outline to expand off of was essential, and must always be gotten back to! They were physically weak, naturally anxious to please, instinctively aware of their place in the biological hierarchy, and a little-understood and incredibly tiny minority - a set of traits that left them wide-open to being taken advantage of. Routines, order, and predictability helped soothe their otherwise frazzled, nervous dispositions. So John was truly grateful that his second could find some of what he needed in school. 

John was yanked out of these thoughts, though, as Sam grew progressively more excited the closer they got. Once they turned into the parking lot and pulled to a stop, Sam LEAPED out of the car. John wondered for half a moment whether the kid might not just take off running for the door, but no. Sam thankfully (sensibly) just stood there, bouncing on his toes, grinning like a maniac as John re-locked the door and walked over to his son's side. Another hallway, another office with another receptionist, more paperwork. John handed Sam his lunch money, ruffling Sam's hair - which John felt really needed cutting soon, though Sam was sure to disagree. After accepting a bear-hug and assuring Sam that he would be there to pick him up after he got Dean, (whose school let out about 45 minutes earlier) he watched his youngster skip off down the hall with a teacher's assistant. With both his boys taken care of, John strolled back to the car, and back to work.

There were several things John needed to do that day, but decided that his first order of business was locating more coffee and a local newspaper. A quick stop at the corner Gas-'n-Sip killed both those birds with one stone. With caffeine in his system, John realized that his next item to attend to should probably be phone calls. He needed to contact his associates, let people know that they were still alive, find out what all was new. He drove back to the motel room, where the first person he called was Bobby Singer.

"I'm gonna skin you alive, Winchester! Said you'd call soon as you got into Iowa. Take you two weeks to drive to Iowa? Lemme guess, road construction. Well, THAT'S WHAT PAY PHONES ARE FOR, YOU IDJIT!" John shook his head, settled himself against the headboard, and kicked off his boots. It sounded as though Bobby might need a minute to finish his rant. "You think shit waits for John Winchester? Hardly! I've had Jim blowing my phone up near every hour day and night. He's all a-fluster, worried about some omega in a domestic-violence shelter in Cedar Rapids he wants you to check on. They won't tell him a thing over the phone. As if you keep us any better informed, you damn fool off galavanting!" John scrawled himself a quick note to look into that shelter, as Bobby kept on. "Caleb's got some real good stuff, better'n usual, but said he won't hold it for you more'n four weeks. Harvelle might have some info on that red-eyed ass that's been creeping around scaring folk up in Idaho and Montana. Rufus finally ganked that swine in Vermont, the one that had three omega mates die one right after another? Well, scum took a FOURTH. Died same way all the others did, 'fore we could even get there. Took number four for the cops to get involved, but they ain't gonna find nothing - Rufus done took care of it for 'em. And me, I got a bunch o' medical journals in from Greece. Series of articles in there on correlations between blood types and alpha immune responses. I don't know how useful it'll be, but I'm translatin' it, all the same." Bobby finally decided to take a breath. "But what've YOU been doing, you AWOL bastard? I'm still waitin' to hear how it went in Madison!"

John shifted position. "You'll remember that I have a family, Bobby. Two young sons with me. Taking care of my OWN omegas is a priority on occasion." Bobby's tone changed, immediately. "What? Tell me those boys are OK..." John was quick to reassure him, "They're fine, Bobby. Both of 'em. Dean presented." 

Silence, for a moment. "Well, hell, John. That's somethin' else." John grunted his agreement. More silence. It wasn't a surprise, really. Most of the little "hunting" community knew what John Winchester's sons were. But hearing that one had finally, actually PRESENTED was sobering. Bobby cleared his throat. "Look here, John. You're ever in a tight spot, need anything at all? All you gotta do is call. A damn bunch of hypocrites, is what we'd be, talkin' how we wanna protect omegas, and not doin' for one in our midst. We're ALL ready, any time, John. You just let somebody know, and we'll be there." John smiled. Bobby was a good man to have on one's side. "I know it, Bobby. And I thank you. But what's Caleb's number these days? I'll call him up just as soon as I get off with you..."

Six phone calls and nearly an hour later, and John decided it was time to find a REAL job, one that would put bread on the table and shoes on his kids' feet. He had already paid for a week at the motel, and now had a whopping $27 and change left in his wallet, plus the $200 they kept taped to the inside of the secret compartment in the trunk for emergencies only. They were used to being broke, but that was cutting it too close for comfort. He didn't like running credit card scams unless they were absolutely necessary. He supposed he could always go hustle pool at some bar, if push came to shove, but that wasn't guaranteed, and would require him to leave Dean and Sam in the motel by themselves, unsupervised - a thing he REALLY didn't want to do unless he had to. He was going to try his best to find honest work, first. He flipped through the Yellow Pages, dialing every body shop, transmission house, and tire & lube place listed. SOMEBODY had to want a pair of extra hands, for a while, at least! He finally hit potential with a "Joe's Engines" on 12th Street. John promised to be there within 20 minutes. He stretched, put his boots back on, ran a comb through his hair, and straightened his collar before grabbing the keys to the Impala. John readied his mind as he drove, mentally preparing himself to loose the Winchester charm on this "Joe" and everybody else that worked there.

It was an unassuming, white-painted cement block garage that John pulled up to, with three cars in the middle of being disassembled and re-arranged, and four more waiting. Parking off to the side, so as not to be mistaken for a customer, John marched up to the office with its peeling green door. When a young man with a red goatee asked how he could help him, John announced that he was there to see Joe about a job. An older gentleman popped out from under the car nearest the door. "John, right? I'll be with you in just a moment. Have yourself a seat." John chose not to sit, remained standing where he was. The older man wiped his hands off on a rag before walking over. "John, you said? I'm Joe. And you wanna work on cars for a few weeks?" John nodded, his most winning smile on. "Yes, sir, I do. Would be a good thing for us both, I'm sure of it." Joe laughed, "Confidence, eh? I like it. But tell me, what kind of experience have you got?" John rattled off the highlights of his mechanicking career, offering the names and phone numbers of a few places he'd worked at the longest, finishing up with a nod over towards his Impala. "Plus? I keep up the work on my own vehicle. That '67 Impala, over there." John knew that the tip-top condition he kept his classic muscle car in was a prime selling-point. Not only did it showcase his abilities, but it also had the added effect of just plain impressing people and making him look cool. Not that John held with that kind of vain ignorance. He'd only bought the thing because that Van Halen character on the lot had sworn up and down that it would still run like a dream 40 years later. It hadn't been quite 40 years, yet, but it certainly WAS the best-running car that John had ever owned. A quality investment. The fact that it looked good was just a bonus.

Joe whistled. "Now THAT I want a look-see at!" John popped the hood and stood back. He didn't need to look with the man. He already knew how that car's innards were - practically perfect. John was fastidious in caring for his car. Had to be, he and his two sons practically lived out of it! John was never so much as a day late with an oil change. He wasn't sure if he even could be, as much as Dean was always wanting to tinker with it and help. That boy LOVED cars, and this one with a particular ferocity. John had been slowly teaching Dean some basic maintenance and light repair for a few years, now, and the kid took to it like a fish to water. Boy would probably make a pretty decent mechanic, himself, some day. He had tried to teach Sam a few things, too, but Sam didn't act like he could care less, so working on the car was primarily a John-Dean bonding activity. He had to find other things to interest Sam. 

Joe was plenty interested, though, and spent more than a few minutes commenting appreciatively on what he saw. Satisfied that John might actually know a thing or two about engines, Joe looked him in the eye. "If you wanna work, you can show up tomorrow at eight, sharp. I'll have a few things for you to start with. If you're any good at all, I reckon I'll keep you on for a while." John smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir. You won't regret it." Joe nodded, "Don't reckon I will. But you said you were looking for temporary work. So I gotta assume you want under the table?" John's face grew serious. "If possible..." Joe waved him off. "No, it's better this way, really. Makes my life easier. Less paperwork, no tax hassles. You want paid daily? Cash, or check?" John didn't hesitate. "Daily cash, if you don't mind." Joe grinned. "No problem. Just show me what you can do tomorrow, we might have an arrangement. Eight, sharp." John shook his hand. "Eight, sharp. Yes, sir. Thanks, again." John drove off with a triumphant smile on his face.

Stopping at a deli for a roast-beef and Swiss sandwich on dark rye, extra pickles, John contemplated his next move. He made up his mind to swing by the town's Chamber of Commerce for a detailed road map of the county, before hitting up the library. He had a bit of research to get started on, including the specifics of the area's sexual assault and child-endangerment laws, but decided to save that for a day when he had more time. Scrolling through microfiche in the geneaology and periodicals sections let him know that there were at least 3 known alphas still alive in the surrounding 6-county region, though he knew that there were probably at least a few more out there that had somehow managed to keep their designation from becoming a matter of public record. A glance at his watch told him that he had about 18 minutes before he needed to go pick up Dean. He gathered his notebooks, satisfied with his accomplishments that day and in a pretty good mood, all in all. He hoped things had gone as well for his boys...


	6. Picked Up

By the time John pulled up to the school, Dean was already waiting outside, talking to some girl. John frowned, angrily wondering where the staff were. The whole point of the form that morning had been to ensure that Dean would be properly looked after! And now they were just letting him stand around outside, without supervision? John was pissed, and ready to rip that principal a new one. He knew that as of that morning there had been nothing but betas there, (aside from Dean) but even betas could be sick pervs, and were still significantly stronger than omegas. John was already getting out of the car to grab Dean and march right back up into that office, when he spotted the teacher against the wall to the side of the entrance, who nodded and waved. John deflated, waved back, and laughed at himself. Well. OK, then. So there WAS somebody watching Dean. Good...

He walked up to Dean. Kid was totally engrossed in whatever it was this perky little brunette was giggling about. He tapped him on the shoulder. Dean looked up, grinning broadly. "Oh, hey, Dad! Uh, this is Bethany..." He gestured them to each other. "Bethany, yeah, this is my dad." John humored him. "Bethany, pleasure to meet you. I take it you're a new friend of Dean's?" She smiled, flipping her hair. "Yeah! I mean, I guess so. We're friends now, Dean?" She batted her eyelids. Dean smiled the kind of wicked smile that he would perfect over the next few years. "Oh, yeah. TOTALLY friends. Love a friend like YOU..." She giggled, and John rolled his eyes, tugging Dean's elbow. "Alrighty, then. Better tell your friend bye, Dean. We gotta go get Sammy." Dean nodded. "Guess I gotta go. See ya tomorrow." She waved at their backs as they walked away. "Bye, Dean!"

Dean was looking pretty smug about it all, at least until he sat down, when his smirk turned into a grimace. Then it was John's turn to smirk. "And THAT'S why I made you wear it." Dean scowled, but John just kept smiling, thoroughly satisfied that he would see no repeat of that morning, again. "Don't worry, son. We'll stop back at the motel after we get Sam, you can change it there." Dean's frown deepened at that. "Ugh. Is this like an ALWAYS thing?" John grinned. "Wouldn't need 'em if you'd quit ogling titties. But I don't see that happening, do you?" Dean squinted his eyes at his dad, slumping in his seat. "Whatever..."

They stopped at a corner store. "Pick you and Sam both out a couple things. Stuff to do, after." Dean perked up, and immediately grabbed an apple-filled danish and a pack of M&Ms for himself. What would SAM want, though? He looked around, debating. Not a lot of rabbit food in a Gas-'n-Sip... He finally settled on picking up one of those fancy new sea-salt-and-caramel drizzled almond protein bars and an orange. His dad got a chicken-salad sandwich and a couple beers for once they got back to the motel that evening. They got back into the car, Dean scarfing his snacks down almost before John could pull back out onto the road again. They had more than a few minutes to wait once they arrived at the middle school, where there was already a line of cars winding around the building. John flicked his eyes at Dean. "I'd ask you about your day, but I know you're just gonna have to repeat most of it once Sam gets in..." Dean shrugged. "Eh. Just school. It's the same everywhere." John paused a moment. "What I really wondered was whether YOUR experience of school was any different today." Dean looked at him. "OH. You mean, being an omega? Like, did anything weird happen?" Dean shook his head. "Nah. Not really. I don't think anybody could even tell. Gym teacher was real cool. Pulled me aside like he was talking to me for a few minutes 'til everybody else was changed, then acted like he'd just realized it was time to start. Didn't have to go taking my clothes off in front of anybody." John nodded, Dean continued. "Did get all sweaty, though. Probably have to figure out something else tomorrow. Can't run around stinking 'til I dry for all the classes after EVERY day..." John nodded in actual, serious agreement. Dean's various smells were ALL stronger, now that he'd presented. His sweat was slightly more pungent now even to a beta like John. John had already made some calls a few days ago when Dean's heat first began, so something to help with that would show up in the mail, soon. Dean added, "I thought maybe somebody might notice my eyes, but I don't guess anybody did. Or maybe they just didn't say anything, or just didn't know what it even was. I dunno." John nodded again. Dean's eyes not drawing attention was a good thing. At least an omega's gold wasn't as shocking or immediately noticeable as an alpha's red. A ring of RED didn't even try to blend in! Made a hunter's job a lot easier... Dean propped a knee up on the dash. "Homeroom teacher gave me a note to keep, gives me permission to use the staff bathroom near the office, if I don't wanna go in the regular bathroom. Went during lunch. Didn't want whatever hallway-buddy they'd assign me to ask why I could go in there. Probably always try to just wait and go during lunch." Sounded good to John. "Anything else?" Dean shrugged. "Well, I didn't LEAK until just before you got there." John couldn't help the slow smile that spread across his face, and Dean saw it. "S'not funny, Dad!" John chuckled. "Kind of is." Dean looked out the window, mumbling something that John got the feeling he really wanted to be able to hear, for some reason. "What was that, son?" Dean looked down at his fingers, still mumbling, but just loud enough for John to make sense of, this time. "Said I thought about taking it off and throwing it away." John looked at him sharply. "But I didn't!", Dean added. "Be glad you didn't, Dean." Dean sighed, muttered some more. "Yeah. Figured you'd probably check, or something." John's pointed look abated none. "I wouldn't have HAD to check. That girl, or some other, would have made it obvious enough for me when I picked you up. You DO realize that, don't you?" Dean drooped. "Yes, sir." John relaxed. "Alright, then. Cheer up. Long as you understand that."

A mere moment later a bell rang, and middle-schoolers were pouring out, everywhere. It took a minute for them to spot Sam in the throng. Dean rolled his window down, waving madly. "Yo, Sammy! We're over here!" Sam smiled and rolled his eyes as he ran. Dean must think he's blind, if he thought he needed any help locating their long black beast of a car in a line of minivans! He hopped into the backseat, grinning. "Hey, Dean! Dad! Guess what?" John was too busy trying not to run over 6th-graders on his way out of the parking lot to respond, so it was Dean that asked, "What?" Sam nearly exploded. "We're gonna build and race little cars! For science! 'Cause we're studying gravity and incline and all that, and we're gonna measure everything about it when we race 'em!" Dean snorted. "Lucky nerd. All we're doing in science is talking about cells and shi- I mean, crap..." John gave him a LOOK, while Sam continued. "Dad, I'm gonna need a shoebox. Teacher said we could make 'em however we want, long as a shoebox is the main part. I got a week." John nodded. "Sure thing, kiddo. We can scrounge you up a shoebox from someplace..." He figured he could probably just walk in some store and TAKE a box, leave the actual shoes there. Sam was glowing. "Thanks! Oh, and guess what happened at lunch? This guy was putting his green beans in his chocolate milk, and the girl next to him said..." Sam went on and on, one typically middle-school sounding story after another. Dean had apparently been marginally satisfied with his OWN lunch that day, since they'd served hamburgers, though he complained that the meat was stupid thin, his bun was squashed, and it wasn't even really hot, just warm. John just listened to the back-and-forth for a couple minutes, highly entertained, before all the food-talk reminded him to tell Dean to give Sam his snack. Dean tossed them in the backseat. "Yeah, Dad told me to pick something out for you. That OK?" Sam peered at the protein bar's wrapper, before taking a bite. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." John glanced in his rearview mirror. "No orange peels left in the seat, Sam. Don't want the acid ruining the leather. Throw 'em out the window." Dean seconded that. "Yeah, all of it. Little stringy bits, too." John popped Dean gently on the arm. "I'M the issuer of orders here, son. But Sam? That order still stands..." Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir..."

A minute later, and they were back at the motel. Sam hadn't even finished his orange, yet, and so was able to just deposit the peels in the room's trashcan, while waiting on Dean to change out his pad. Dean had a pitiful, defeated look on his face, coming out of the bathroom. Sam tried cheering him up with, "Hey, at least Dad didn't get you the scented kind. And they don't have flowers on the wrappers, either! Just light blue!" Dean's look of disgust and the smart retort he was about to come back with were interrupted by John at the door, announcing that he needed two boys AIS, ASAP (asses in seats, as soon as possible!). Two young Winchesters hopped to it, and they headed down the road.


	7. Weapons Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably this chapter has been the most for me fun to write, thus far! :)

Sam looked out the window, then looked at the two in the front. "So... where are we going?" They hadn't brought their stuff, so it wasn't another move, and it wasn't time for supper, so where were they headed? Dean was looking expectantly at John now, too. "We're getting back on track, back to your usual after-school activities." Dean perked up; Sam just looked out the window. "We took a week off, with Dean presenting, and all. But his heat's over with now, and there won't be another for six months. Time we got back to business." Dean was bobbing his head happily. "Shooting range?" John shook his head. "None close by around here, not for 40 miles, or better. But there's plenty of woods. Found a good patch on a map. No houses around for a few miles, nearest farm field or barn is at least a mile. Should be isolated enough for us to shoot and not get the cops called." Dean looked happy, while Sam just looked resigned. John tried to offer him a motivational incentive. "Won't be ALL shooting. You hit 25 targets I set for you in a row, with both pistol AND rifle, and you can work on the atlatl, too." An atlatl was absolutely useless as an actual weapon for defending yourself, but it was a way to develop arm muscles and hand-eye coordination that Sam actually enjoyed. He liked the connection with prehistory, and the feeling of accomplishment when he actually succeeded with it - an atlatl was primitive, difficult enough to use properly that even JOHN only got about 80% of his shots with it. So THAT promise made Sam look alive and get into the swing of things!

John finally stopped the car beside a road that obviously didn't see too much traffic. He popped the trunk with Dean practically dancing a jig beside him. Dean LOVED guns. All kinds. Probably more than most people would consider healthy - not that John was complaining. Dean's enjoyment made getting him to practice a breeze. Sam, on the other hand, was pretty indifferent. He didn't HATE target practice, he just didn't really LIKE it. To Sam, it was boring. Most 10-year-old boys would be awed at the chance to shoot the wide variety of guns that Sam regularly did - but then again, for most boys, it wasn't a daily chore. Four years of shooting practice almost every day had taken the shine off of the activity for Sam. He DID feel a little better for getting back to something he was used to, (routine, and all) but wasn't thrilled that the something was THIS. But he wasn't going to complain. It made Dad and Dean happy, so he would just do it and get it over and done with, and they would move on to better things. Like the atlatl!

"What you boys wanna do first? Pistols, or rifles?" Dean crowed, "PISTOLS!" Yeah, because he liked feeling like a badass. He might've been fourteen, but that didn't stop him from imagining himself as a cop, or a bounty hunter, or some kind of hero that rescues a sexy damsel in distress somewhere deep in an urban jungle. Oh, yeah. Dean wanted to do pistols. Sam shrugged. Was all the same, to him. John smiled, opened the case, and told the boys to pick one. Sam grabbed one at random, while Dean actually thought a moment before selecting the antique Colt. Yeah. Colt. Like a sheriff in some old cowboy movie, or something. He was gonna clean this town up...

25 shots each later, and they were putting them away and getting out rifles. 'Cause yep, they made them all, no misses. Even young as they were, the Winchester boys were already used to making the shots they called almost 100% of the time. They'd been trained that well, for that long, by someone that good. Even so, John KEPT them practicing, because he was going to KEEP them on top of their game. Letting the boys choose their weapons again, John watched Dean bump his brother out of the way so he could get to the Winchester. 'Cause really. Who didn't wanna use a gun that had the same name as them? Sam huffed. "Jerk..." Dean didn't have to be so pushy. He already KNEW which one Dean would want, and he always let him have it, so why was he acting like this was a prize scramble, or something? Dean just cocked the gun, propped it on his shoulder, grinned, and whispered back, "What, bitch?" Sam offered him a face and a finger. Fortunately for the boys, John missed THAT exchange, it having taken place while he was busy loading his own rifle.

Twenty-SIX shots later, (because Sam had missed one, his fourteenth) and John and Dean were putting their rifles back. Sam threw big, sad eyes at his dad, who replied, "It's your choice, Sam. Put it away now if you want to. Or try it again. But no atlatl unless I see 25 in a row." Sam closed his eyes for a second and blew out his nose, kicking the dirt a little. "Fine." John raised an eyebrow. "I mean, yes, sir." He re-loaded and got all of his next 25 shots, earning himself a pat on the shoulder and a 'good job'. "Atlatl, now?" John shook his head. "Knives first, THEN atlatl." The knife case was opened, both bowies and daggers distributed. Just like with the guns, John used chalk to draw targets on trees various distances away for them to aim at. Knives, of course, took a little longer, because you can't "re-load" a knife! They had to keep walking over to fetch them, and then walking back every few throws in order to have anything to throw again. The boys' aim was slightly less precise with knives, but they still got them all within at least a few inches of where they meant to. The boys didn't have quite as much experience with knives as they did with guns. John had started teaching them each to shoot a couple years before letting them start with knives, feeling that a 6-or-7-year-old would be more likely to drop a knife on their foot or not pay attention and grab it ABOVE the handle, than to turn a gun 180-degrees around and shoot themselves. They were still wicked good with them, though...

By the time they were done with THAT, Sam was about ready to burst. "NOW can we do the atlatl?" John grinned. "Sure thing, kid. Have at it." Sam cheered, running to dig it out of the back of the trunk. Of all the stuff they shot or threw, this was definitely his favorite, the only one he got excited about! Well, no. He liked throwing darts, too. And he sort of liked the crossbow OK. But that was more like a game, than actual weapons training. He knew his dad didn't really think this totally counted as a weapon, either, 'cause like Dean said, nobody in the modern world really used an ATLATL for anything other than nerdy competitions or the last week of deer hunting in some states, but Sam didn't care. Spear-throwers were the best! Dean was just jealous, because this was the ONE weapon Sam was significantly better at than him! But that was Dean's own fault. He didn't practice atlatl hardly ever, so of COURSE he sucked at it...

John set Dean to cleaning the knives, and leaned up against the Impala to watch Sam, eating the pre-packaged chicken salad sandwich he'd bought a couple hours previous. It was warm, now, but John didn't care. He'd learned not to be picky in Vietnam. He watched the reverent look on Sam's face as the kid readjusted the point and notched the short spear. Sam looked around carefully, selecting a target. Atlatls were meant for distance, nothing closer than 20 feet at a minimum could be hit with ANY kind of accuracy at all, even by the best. Sam pointed at a large knot in a tree about 15 yards away. "That up there, Dad. See? Where that oak branches out? That's my target." John nodded. "Alright. Let's see what you can do." Sam took a deep breath and stretched and wiggled before rearing back with his arm just behind his head and his torso twisted at just such an angle. John stopped eating for a moment, and even Dean looked up from his knives with interest...

Sam let his arm go with a SWISH-THWACK! - and got the tree, though he missed the bump by about nine inches. But let no one think him a terrible shot! For an atlatl? That's actually pretty damn good! And John said - shouted! - as much! "Close! Sam, my boy, that's pretty damn good!" John's pride could be heard in his voice. He knew how much skill it took to get even THAT close, especially on the first throw! And for a young omega with weak arms? That was FINE! Sam turned around and smiled. Even Dean had to admit that that was something. "Yeah, Sammy. That was a pretty good throw..." Sam wanted Dean to join in the fun with him, too. "You want a turn?" Dean glanced at their dad a second before responding, "Yeah, after I'm done with these knives. Just gimme a minute. You go ahead." Sam nodded, starting to walk to go pull the spear out of the tree. He got back, threw again. His next four shots were a bit more off than the first, a couple by as much as two feet, probably because his arm was getting tired. By that time, Dean was walking over. "Here, let me have it. My turn." Sam handed it over, and Dean hefted it, getting a feel for its weight and shape. They actually had TWO atlatls, and this was the bigger one. The smaller was so MUCH smaller that it only threw spears that were not much bigger than very large darts, but this was one you could actually take down a Clydesdale with. Dean eyed down the spear shaft to decide how to place it on the notch, which was actually more like a hook on this one. He positioned himself much like Sam had, took aim, let fly - and missed by like a MILE. Okay, more like eight foot. Whatever.

Sam was gracious enough to not only not say anything, but even hold his face neutrally, as well. Dean glared at him, anyway, before stomping off to retrieve the spear. THEN Sam turned to share a smile with John. By the time Dean got back a moment later, the other two were poker-faced again. Dean launched the spear again, and missed by about TEN feet. Fetching it with an "I-will-eat-you" scowl, he tried again, missing by an equal amount in the OTHER direction. John was glad Dean had to go so far off to get it, because he was pretty sure he'd have felt the need to reprimand Dean for whatever words constituted the mutter he was muttering, had he been able to make them out. Back again, Dean cocked his arm to throw once more, before stopping himself with a loud huff. "Wait. Sam, show me what I'm doing wrong! Is it my grip, my stance, or WHAT?" Sam furrowed his brow. "Umm... well, get in position. I can't see like THAT." Dean made as if to throw the thing, and Sam walked up behind him. "Umm, here. Try holding it a little closer to your head. No, no, not THAT close. Like... yeah, like that. Right, Dad?" John nodded. "Looks about right." Dean grunted his thanks, hurled the spear... and actually got within three feet that time! "WHOO!" Dean threw the whole atlatl this time, as he punched the air in triumph! He yodelled and stomped up and down in imitation of some barbarian victory dance, shouting, "YEAH!" Sam and John both grinned and clapped him on the back. "Finally!", Sam said. Dean was so freaking happy he couldn't even manage the snark necessary to come up with a comeback to that - he just hopped around in a joyful ecstasy, crowing, "OH, yeah!" Sam was really happy for Dean, who hardly ever got anywhere NEAR that close. "Try it again! Maybe you can do it again, get better and better!" Dean settled down in a hurry. "Uh... nah. I'm good. Think that's good for today. Arm's tired now, anyway." John smiled and shook his head, went off in search of the spear on the ground, and came back to take the atlatl from Dean. "Alright. My turn." He notched, aimed, fired... and got the tree literally JUST below the knot - touching it! Dean and Sam couldn't even be jealous, not while they were so busy feeling awed and proud. 'Cause surely nobody was ever gonna be dumb enough to mess with their dad. He was just too fucking awesome and LETHAL...


	8. Evenings

Because the fun with the atlatl went on longer than planned, it was almost 7:00 when they got back to the motel. John used what little money was left in his pocket to order a couple pizzas, and dug a handful of quarters out of the console in the car so the boys could walk TOGETHER to the vending machine around the corner of the building for a couple sodas. That they were ten and fourteen didn't matter one whit to John - they were omegas in constant danger, so if they wanted to go out of the room at dusk, they were gonna use the buddy system and stick together, period. First making sure they had their pocket-knives on them, he watched them round the corner with anxiety. Damn it, he was trying, he was TRYING not to be paranoid! They would be fine, it was literally just around the corner. They'd be back in less than two minutes! But John still whispered a prayer. They might do this twenty-thousand times and be perfectly fine, but all it would take would be just ONE time for some alpha to catch their scent and fixate on them the way that Azazel Shurley monster had fixated on Mary. He fought the urge to run after them; his heart pounded fit to have a stroke until they came back...

But he didn't let the boys see how worried he had been. He almost never did. He wanted them to live life as carefree as possible, though it really WASN'T possible. But John tried to let them have small illusions of normalacy as often as he could. He let out a sigh as they walked back to the door, tapping Dean lightly on the back of the head as he walked through. "Took you so long?", he groused. Dean rubbed his head, looking slightly offended. "Was just a minute. Sam's the one took ages trying to decide between Pepsi, Sun-drop, and RC." Sam puffed out in indignation. "Hey! If I can only get one, I just wanna make sure it's the one I really want! And that takes a second!" Dean rolled his eyes. "None of 'em's Dr. Pepper, so what does it matter? Seriously." John was locking the door. "Well, hurry it up, next time. Shouldn't take you so long. You're old enough to not let it, Dean." Dean looked down at his shoes. "Sorry, Dad..." Sam looked as though he was debating whether to feel guilty or not. "I guess I'm sorry, too?" John smiled, pulled them both to him for a second. "It's fine. Just don't want you boys out too long after dark, is all." Dean smirked. "Yeah, we know. Next time I'll just punch Big Red, and Sammy can just take what he gets. In a hurry." Sam socked Dean in the arm. "No you WON'T! I can pick for myself, thank you very much! And I won't be picking any Big Red! Ew, Dean!" Dean laughed, and John shook his head. "OK. Pizza'll be here in about 30 minutes. You boys be doing your homework. We're gonna eat and settle down, alright?" Both boys nodded. "Yes, sir." Sam sat at the table with a few worksheets and a literature excerpt to read, while Dean sprawled out on one of the beds with his algebra. John took his boots off, emptied his pockets, turned on the news, and got comfortable on the other bed. 

John MIGHT have dozed off waiting on the pizza, if it hadn't been for Dean's loud, dramatic sighs every few minutes. John opened one eye to check on him. Kid was fine, just puffing because he actually had homework to do, and had been told to do it. John smiled, and closed his eyes again, listening listlessly to the local news that would mean absolutely nothing to them when they had moved on again here in a couple weeks. Dean continued his loud exhaling, but John ignored it. Let the kid puff... 

Sam, however, was happily completing his social studies worksheets, and wasn't in the mood to listen to any of Dean's bologna. About ten minutes in, Sam instructed Dean to shut up. Dean threw an arm out. "What? I'm not saying anything!" Sam bitch-faced him. "You're making too much noise. Just stop." Dean got slightly defensive, making John wonder if Dean wasn't tired already, too. "This doesn't have to be done in silence, LITTLE brother. Quit telling me what to do. I'm bigger than you, you know." Sam pointedly ignored that, finishing his worksheets and placing them neatly back in the yellow folder in his backpack before pulling out his literature book. The reading selection was a portion of some play, and Sam quickly got absorbed. But just as quickly he was distracted by Dean's huffing and puffing, again. Sam frowned. "Trying to read over here, Dean." Dean didn't even look up. "Trying to find 17% of 1 over 0.897 over here, Stink-bug." Sam was incredulous. "STINK-BUG???" Dean shrugged. "Just something annoying to call you. You always object to Samantha or Francis." Sam was trying to process. "Yeah, but... Stink-bug? That'd be like if I called you Inchworm, or something. Or Locust." That was Dean's cue to start singing Rob Zombie's "Seventeen-Year Locust". Sam threw an eraser at Dean's head, Dean who laughed and never missed a beat. Sam laughed, too, and started singing with him. The segment of play was short, he could read it in the morning, in the few minutes before class started. Goofing off with Dean was more fun than schoolwork. John surprised them by joining in after a minute, humming the guitar riffs to accompany them, with his eyes still closed. The pizza was late, of course, giving them time to get on their sixth song by Jethro Tull when there was finally a knock at the door. The music stopped abruptly.

"PIZZA!" Both boys shot from their perches, knocking books and backpacks over. John groaned and rolled out of bed, slowly peeling his eyes open as he pulled his wallet out of the drawer in the bedside table. He peered through the peephole at the pimple-faced 18-yr.-old that held their supper before opening the door. Accepting the food, he blessed the little blue-haired punk with the very last of his cash as a tip. Breakfast in the morning would have to come out of the emergency funds stashed in the trunk. Oh, well. He was gonna work and get paid tomorrow. He'd just replace it, and all would be well. Wouldn't be the first time.

Meanwhile, John's sons were bouncing around him like overstimulated Chihuahuas. He had to actually bat Dean away just to be able to set the food down on the table without dumping it everywhere. "Lord help us, sit DOWN! You're not starving!" Sam and Dean obediently sat, still antsy. John made them wait a moment, his hand firmly on top of the boxes, slitted eyes flitting from one boy to the other. He finally reached in one of the boxes. "Just for that show of impatience? I'm eating these two banana peppers." There were twin groans, and John smirked. Normally John saved all the banana peppers in the box corners for the boys, let them split them. Now they would both be down one. A mild but fitting consequence for driving him crazy, right?

Finally giving them the go-ahead, the two large pizzas were rapidly devoured - crusts, crumbs, and all. The boys changed out of their clothes into T-shirts and sweatpants and brushed their teeth, while John began slowly nursing one of his two beers bought that afternoon. Finishing one, he changed his own clothes before cracking open the other. He drank slowly, not trying to get drunk. Just... relaxing. Letting his mind float a bit. John was really just ready to go to bed. They didn't usually go to bed quite this early - it wasn't even 9:00, yet. But a lot had happened over the last week or so, they had gotten up earlier than usual that morning, and the boys had really pushed themselves and their muscles with the knives and atlatl, earlier. John had a new job to get to the next day, too. So what if they hit the hay extra early? So John arranged himself on the bed nearest the door, letting the boys decide where THEY would sleep. He really didn't care, was too tired to worry with it. There were two full-size beds, AND a cot underneath the other. They could both pile up in the other, or one take the other and the other take the trundle, or one of them could take the other bed and one sleep with him. Whatever they wanted to do. John didn't tell them one way or the other. He drained the last of the liquid out of his second bottle and was turning off the light and television when he felt a warmth snuggle into his side. Well, he THOUGHT he didn't care where they slept. But in the gentle buzz after two strong beers? Dean curled up next to him in between him and Sammy didn't seem like a bad sleeping arrangement, at all. He moved his arm so it could rest against both of their heads. "Night, boys...."


	9. New Normal for Mornings

When the alarm went off the next morning, John awoke, a little confused. He wasn't much in the habit of waking up hanging half off the bed! Jerking his head, he looked up to find Sam sprawled out like a giant starfish, taking up most of the bed and ALL the pillows, and Dean curled up at the end, drooling on his foot. It took John a moment to process the scene, having only the vaguest recollection of the boys crawling in bed with him the night before. He sighed, smiling, as he slid out from under Dean and stood up.

"RISE AND SHINE, BOYS!" The alarm hadn't stirred them at all, but their dad's booming voice in their ear as he bounced the mattress? Yeah, they were awake, now! Dean sat up instantaneously, looking around wildly, trying to breathe, again. Sam just glared at nothing, not moving. John flicked every light in the room on, kicking the bed for good measure. "UP! Up and at 'em!" Dean groaned, closed his eyes again, and slid back down under the comforter. Sam stared at the ceiling as though it were a museum piece. But John frowned, because oh, no. He wasn't being ignored. They'd gone to bed EARLY the night before, so his boys had no good excuse for not bouncing right up when he called. He snatched all the covers away in one swift movement. "Up means NOW, boys! Hop to it!" Sam and Dean made low noises, slowly shifting to rise. Sam was the question-asker. "It's time for school already?" John shook his head. "Nope. Little over an hour and a half, yet. But I told you yesterday that we were getting back on track, back to business. So we're going for a run." That news brightened Sam's countenance a little, but extracted a sound like a dying seal's from Dean. Morning runs were one of the few aspects of the training regimen their dad insisted on that Sam actually enjoyed. Dean probably would have been a lot more okay with it, had it not been FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, even before breakfast! He was sure running would be easier with food in his system, no matter what his dad said about it...

John, knowing his boys, tossed a peppermint at Dean. "There. Food. No complaints. Socks and shoes on. Bathroom and stretch, 'cause we're out that door in ten. You boys hear me?" "Yes, sir!" Though Dean's was a bit muted, with the mint in his mouth...

They didn't even get dressed. It was still dark, the sun wouldn't be up for a little while yet, so John didn't really care if the boys wanted to run in what they'd slept in. They'd be coming back to take showers before school, anyway. He wasn't taking them very far, at any rate, just a couple miles, five blocks square. Something else he'd determined from that Chamber of Commerce map - a good running route near the motel, with as little traffic as possible at that hour. Just far enough to get their blood pumping, wake them up, keep them in shape and moving. These runs were a DEEPLY entrenched part of their routine. He may have started the boys on guns at 6, and knives at 8, but morning runs had been a thing John had taken his boys with him for even before Mary's death - just one of those military habits he'd never kicked. Neighbors in Lawrence had thought it cute, John jogging by with a tiny 2-yr.-old Dean clinging to his back at six in the morning, and later a 4-yr.-old Dean walking briskly beside John, who carried baby Sam. (Yeah, the runs were a lot more like fast WALKS, for a few years.) Mary'd sworn he was crazy, and never cared to join him, but never argued against it, either. Half an hour without little ones under foot gave her time to stretch and think in the morning, to get breakfast started without a dozen interruptions, so she never complained...

So runs were a thing they could get back in the habit of quite easily. Ten minutes later, and they were good to go - well, aside from Dean, who was busy digging through his dad's jacket pockets in search of another mint. John snatched his jacket away, tossed the boys their pocket-knives to stuff into their socks, grabbed a small handgun for himself, ('cause you could never be too careful) and opened the door. John laid out their route for them as he re-locked it. "Alright, boys. Five blocks square, start going straight, then left. Go!" 

And they were off! John let himself fall back, let the boys set the pace. Sam was grinning, in a competitive mood already. "Race ya, Dean!" Dean cricked his neck, before taking off after his little brother. It didn't take him long at all to catch up, being older and all, but Sam stayed neck and neck with him - his still-slightly-shorter legs no real holdup for a kid that energetic, determined, and stubborn. John smiled from only a few feet behind. He was certain making the boys run most every morning for most of their lives was a good thing. Being able to get away quickly was a skill he hoped they would never need, but he was happy to have helped them develop it, all the same. Besides, he was just plain proud. For kids their age, his boys were fit as fiddles - and he was going to keep them that way and improve on it as long as he could!

Back at the motel again, the boys slumped against the wall, panting, as John unlocked the door. "OK, showers. You first, Dean." Sam was apt to lose track of time and not leave anyone any hot water, so John had learned to make sure Sam wasn't first - and WOULD, at least until he was sure that he and Dean wouldn't have to take cold showers! Dean smirked, slinking away from Sam's attempted shove. "Yes, sir." After watching Dean shut the bathroom door, John turned to Sam. "What do you think you want for breakfast?" Sam paused his channel surfing to think. "Umm... I dunno. Omelet?" He looked up hopefully. John nodded. "Sure. Diner a few blocks over'll do that. We'll go there, if you boys don't take all morning getting ready. We run out of time, though, and we'll just grab cereal bars from a convenience store." Sam rushed over, pounding on the bathroom door. "DEAN! Dad said we could go get a real breakfast, if you hurry it up!" A muffled, "YOU hurry it up...", was heard in response. Sam growled as he turned back, grabbing his own clothes and stuff and standing by the door, ready to jump in the shower as soon as Dean was out. John grinned - on the inside. That was ONE way to ensure that Sam would get a move on...

Sam didn't have long to stand there, as Dean was only a few minutes. He squeezed past Dean, determined to take one of the fastest showers he had in months. Dean looked bewildered at Sam's flurried rush. He looked over at his dad. "I'm not THAT slow...?" John shook his head. "Nah. But if it lights a fire under Sam..." Dean grinned in understanding, pulling his shirt over his head. Not even five minutes later, they heard the water turning off. John got up from his chair, checked the locks, peered out the window. He grabbed the remote, turned the TV off, and gave Dean the same spiel as every other morning for the last ten years. "Alright, Dean. I'm next. Won't be long, just a few minutes. You boys STAY IN THIS ROOM, keep the curtain closed, the door locked. Keep the TV off, so you can hear. Watch your brother. I don't expect anything to happen in less than ten minutes, but if anything does-" Dean interrupted, nodding. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I know, Dad. Keep low, watch. Keep a weapon handy. Anything happens, I grab Sam and run in the bathroom with you. I got it, Dad." John stared with narrowed eyes for a moment at his son, who somehow managed to sound both respectful AND cocky, all at the same time, before turning to Sam, who was dressed but still toweling at his wet hair and arms. "Sam. I'm taking a shower. You stay in this room, TV off, listen to your brother." Sam nodded. "Yeah." John's LOOK made Sam look down. "Yes, sir..." John nodded, strode off to the shower.

Sam plopped down on the end of the bed next to his brother, grumbling and pulling on clean socks. "Always tells us the same thing, like we don't already know." Dean shrugged. "Just wants us to be safe, doesn't want us to forget what we gotta do." Sam gazed towards the bathroom. "Yeah, I guess..." He tied his shoes and got up to brush his hair. "I mean, you don't really think anything's ever gonna happen, do you, Dean?" Dean looked uncertain. "I dunno..." Sam continued, "I mean, alphas are so rare, anyway, and Dad said he didn't think there were any in this town. And even if there were, the door's locked, and we've got loads of weapons in here, and Dad and the other hunters have probably killed off just about every American alpha that ever sneezed funny, anyway, so... We're probably safe, right? We can just relax and quit worrying about it, right?" Dean looked Sam straight in the eye. "I don't know, Sam. I just know we need to do what Dad tells us to do. He's trying to keep us safe, from..." Dean paused, lowered his voice. "That asshole DID get Mom, even with Dad right there in the house. I bet they had the door locked, too." Sam twiddled his hairbrush between his fingers. "I know, Dean. I do. I just... don't you get tired of being scared all the time? Don't you wanna just wake up and be happy, without getting all serious every time Dad takes a shower or something?" Dean snorted. "Who's scared? Like you said, we're about as secure as we CAN be! And Dad's a hunter, now - one of the best ever! He's all on top of it, and I seriously doubt that anybody's ever gonna be able to surprise him like that, again. So I'm not scared. Long as we listen to Dad, we don't have to be!" Sam squirted toothpaste on his toothbrush. "OK, Dean. I get it." And the subject was dropped.

Few minutes later, John was out of the shower and dealing with his own footwear, teeth, and hair. "Dean. Under the sink?" Dean, confused, turned to look under the sink. Oh, yeah. That package. Damn, he'd forgot. You know, screw this! But he closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and ground out a, "Yes, sir...". He tried to pluck out one of the despised objects with as much detached indifference as he could muster, and stomped off into the bathroom. Back out, John told him to grab another to stick in his backpack. "Take an extra, just in case. You never know." With red face and gritted teeth, Dean wasted an extra moment ripping out a sheet of notebook paper to wrap the dumb thing in, before stashing it in the small zippered compartment INSIDE his backpack. He was an irritated bundle of nerves. Oh, please, that no one would ever, ever see it...

Walking out to the car, Sam poked him in the back of the neck, whispering, "Hey. Like you said, just listen to Dad, right?" Dean turned around and punched him in the shoulder, hard, not bothering to whisper. "Shut the fuck UP, Sam!" Sam jerked back, whimpering and pouting, and John leaped into action, collaring his oldest. "DEAN! Report!" Even highly annoyed, Dean had enough sense not to provoke his dad in turn, and so settled right down. "Thinks he's funny, saying stuff..." John was unimpressed. "NOTHING Sam says is an excuse for you to talk like that, OR ASSAULT YOUR BROTHER! Do you understand me?" Dean nodded, and John shook him gently before letting go of him to turn his head around and look at his other son. "Sam! What happened?" Sam sniffed. "Was just playing..." John shook his head. "Just playing doesn't usually get Dean to throwing fists at you. I'm pretty sure I don't really wanna know, but WHATEVER you said, you won't say it again. Or anything too like it. Are we clear, Sam?" Sam sniffed again. "Yes, sir." John gave them BOTH a warning glare. "I have to intervene again? It won't be pretty. So you boys are gonna keep your smart mouths AND fists to yourselves, are we perfectly clear?" Met with two subdued, "Yes, sir"s, John pushed them both toward the car, muttering to himself. "Just ONE quiet morning, with no shenanigans. Is that too much to ask...?"

But breakfast was all it took to make everything right in the world, again. A dozen eggs, a gallon of grits, and a couple pounds of salty, processed meats later, and you'd never be able to guess that anything had ever been wrong for even a moment. Dean and Sam were right back to their usual 'comrades-in-mischief' status, snickering about something top-secret that John didn't care to plumb into. Sipping his coffee, John just shook his head. When they started blowing their straw-papers at the four old ladies in the booth behind them, though, he gave them both a light kick in the ankle and decided they were done. Dropping a couple bills on the table for their server, he stood up. John also made the mistake of deciding that to acknowledge the evil looks one of the elderly ladies was giving him wouldn't be his worst idea ever. With one hand clamped down on each of his sons' collars, he stopped beside the women. "I'd like to apologize, ladies, if these boys of mine have disturbed your breakfast any, being so rambunctious. They're usually pretty good boys, but some mornings..." John shrugged. The one that had been giving him the hairy-eyeball just harrumphed, while another patted Sam, saying, "Oh, it's fine. I had two, myself, and now they've each got one. I know just how it is with boys this age. They can't hardly help but bounce around and make noise, and drive their elders crazy. It's just part of your job, isn't it, sweet thing?" Sam looked thoroughly discomfited. "I... I guess so. If you say so. Ma'am." She gushed. "Oh, isn't he precious? You're a lucky man, sir, sweet boys like that. You take good care of 'em for us, alright?" John was assuring them that he meant to, and was just about to pull away so they could be on their way, when one of the others gasped. "His EYES! Why look, Betty! That older boy, he's got eyes just like Mavis used to have!" At that, the whole table swivelled heads to get a closer look. Dean shuffled nervously, and John tensed, uncertain how to handle this. He now SERIOUSLY regretted stopping, and not just marching straight out the door!

John didn't even have a full millisecond to contemplate his next move, though, before there was an old lady grabbing Dean's face. "Why, he HAS! Golden ring, just LIKE Mavis'! You don't suppose he's really..." John was done. He'd meant to lightly shame his sons into behaving the next time they sat down to a meal in public, NOT to subject Dean to inspection like some amoeba in a petri dish. As his boys would put it - Screw this! John pulled them away. "Well, I hope you ladies have a good day, we have to get going, gotta get these kids to school..." But damn, they were suddenly surrounded! "Wait just a minute, sir! Your boy, he's one of those that has the sex fits every few months, isn't he? What do they call them, alpha-omegas?" John was trying to get them out of there without knocking old ladies over. Another one countered her with, "No, alphas are the ones like Harry used to be, the big, strong ones with the RED rings, and the tempers. Golden rings like Mavis' are omegas." "That boy can't be an omega! Aren't omegas women? That get sick if they don't have babies every so often?" "You know, I'd HEARD of man omegas, but I've never seen one!" The Winchesters had been slowly pushing toward the door, until Dean snarled at the comment that was, to him, the last straw: "You don't mean he's a real, live hermaphrodite, do you?" John had to literally grab Dean and restrain him before he did something stupid, yelling, "EXCUSE ME! We'd like to leave now, please!" All the commotion drew the restaurant's staff, with the waiter ushering the ladies back to their booth, and the manager escorting them out the door.

"I am SO sorry, sir. I can't believe we let those ladies just mob you, like that. They're regulars, never seen them act that way before. I can assure you, we won't let it happen, again. Though I don't suppose you'd know what got them so excited, would you?" The manager looked at them sideways. Dean sputtered. "Pervy creepazoids, that's what they are! Did you see her grab my FACE?!?!" John was tempted to just give up and collapse right there on the hood of the car. Too much... But he collected himself. "I was apologizing for my boys disturbing them, when they took an inappropriate level of interest in my oldest, here. But don't worry, sir, we won't be back to disrupt things for you anymore." The manager looked suspicious, but then just shook it off, shook John's hand, and wished them a good rest of the day. John unlocked the Impala and breathed deeply. "Get in the car..."

They rolled along in silence for a moment, John collecting his thoughts. He looked back at his boys, who sat close beside each other in the back. Sam looked shell-shocked, but Dean just looked pissed. So pissed that he didn't even notice John turning the radio off! John took a deep breath. "It's not you boys' fault. I want to make sure you understand that. The way those women reacted was inappropriate by any standard. They had NO right to crowd around and block us leaving, NO right to touch you and talk about you as though you're some-" He was interrupted. "What, some freak show exhibit?" Dean was fuming. "She called me a freaking HERMAPHRODITE! SHE'S the flipping hermaphrodite! That old... old HERMAPHRODITE!" John was so very glad to be at a red light just then - it gave him a few seconds to close his eyes. Opening them again, John tried to choose his words carefully. "Maybe we need a short vocabulary lesson this morning, Dean." Dean stared at him blankly. John cleared his throat. "As inappropriate as it was for her to point it out? Dean, you ARE a hermaphrodite..." Dean looked affronted, but Sam suddenly had a thoughtful look, as though he were putting a puzzle together. "Because it's from Greek words, right? Like, because we're both...?" Dean turned, confused. John cleared his throat again. "Yeah, Sam. That's right. As male omegas, you've got both sets of reproductive organs, the male ones AND the female ones. From outside, you certainly appear all male, but you... you could function either way. And that's all that means, Dean. That you've got both, can use both. It was rude, but it wasn't really meant as an insult. Just an old lady using out-of-date terminology to try and describe... people like you." John wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Dean look quite so annoyed. "Ugh. Sounds nastier than the cusswords you usually smack us for using. Probably oughta turn around, go back and smack HER, Dad." John laughed, he couldn't help it. "I don't think so, son. We're not going back there for a long time, if ever." He then got serious. "I still feel a little like chewing you out for aggravating people trying to eat. That's not OK, boys. Even if they did go crazy after, it was YOU two that were rude, first." He sighed, watching his sons slump under the scolding. "But honestly? Their reaction to your eyes, Dean, was so much worse than two kids cutting up at the table. Makes your silliness look like nothing." John looked in the rearview mirror, to gauge their responses. "So really, I think you and those ladies are more than even. Nothing left to say on that, 'cept don't do it again." Two bright, relieved smiles shined back at him.

A few minutes later, he brought first one boy to one school, then the other to the other, revising their transportation orders so that the bus would drop them off at "Joe's Engines" at school's end. If Joe intended to work him all day, that day wouldn't end until about 5:00pm, if the sign on the door was anything close to correct. He wouldn't be free to pick them up, and he didn't want them walking. When the bus dropped them off, they could sit in the office, do their homework, entertain themselves for a couple hours. Hour and a half, more like, if the bus dropped very many other kids off, first. John could give 'em a couple bucks for the vending machine, or maybe Joe could find some little thing for them to do - sort nuts and bolts, or sweep, or something. With both boys warned NOT to miss the bus, and to sit near the front and behave like humans while riding the thing, John was able to head off to his new job. John loved his boys, but how ridiculously relieved he was, to be going somewhere to deal with something EASY that made sense!


	10. John's Other Job

Aside from the crazy diner biddies, things were fairly quiet for about three weeks. Three weeks of relative peace and normal-ness. John went to work, Dean and Sam went to school. A shoebox was obtained, and a 'car' built - and yes, Sam's was a winner in all but three out of thirty-four races! Weekends, of course, were just a bit different. Instead of the after-school target practice, weekends had a few hours set aside each day for sparring, boxing, wrestling, and other types of one-on-one, hand-to-hand fighting. If Sam was less than thrilled about target practice, he really DIDN'T like fighting! Though John wasn't so sure if it was really too aggressive for Sam's tastes, or if it was just the fact that Sam was the smaller and weaker of the two, and truly had almost ZERO chance (yet) of making a decent show of it. John, of course, didn't have his boys actually fighting one another - their sessions were just about making sure the boys knew some solid moves if they ever really WERE in a real fight. But the age and size differences between Dean and Sam made it a bit hard sometimes to tell just how much progress Sam was really making. Not only was Dean (as yet) bigger and stronger, but his overzealous enthusiasm compounded the problem, too. Every time John let them move and go at it on their own, "naturally", Dean invariably wound up on top, the apparent "winner". John had to actually force Dean to slow down and let Sam get a grip on him, just so he could see if Sam even had the right idea and technique. Dean grumbled about it some, but cooperated readily enough after John asked whether or not he wanted Sam to actually learn anything and maybe be able to defend himself someday, or if Dean just wanted to keep having his fun "winning" play-fights with a little brother who wasn't really a threat. Dean kind of thought that almost wasn't fair. Sure he wanted Sam to learn! He loved his brother, wanted him to stay safe as much as Dad did! He just had to make sure Sam remembered who was the big brother here, while they were at it. After all, pecking order was important...

Those few hours aside, the remainder of those weekends was freed up for things Sam was much happier about. On Saturdays, instead of going for a run, they drove out to a nearby state park, where they hiked around a small lake. After the 6.23 mile circuit around, John would pull out the lunch they'd packed before letting them swim for a bit. But please, note that this was LUNCH - not a picnic. No baskets, blankets, or parasols! Picnics were for girls, and Dean was not a girl. He just happened to be eating lunch outside at a picnic table, thank-you-very-much! But Sam? Sam didn't care what they called it. It was food and fun with his family, and he was a happy kid. Pamphlets and brochures from the information desk at the park's Welcome Center gave him the idea to examine rocks from the water's edge for fossils. So engrossed was he in this new pastime one afternoon that he failed to notice Dean sneaking up on him until he was snatched up and thrown into the water. And THEN the war was on! John tried to stay neutral as long as he could, just watching with amusement from the sidelines, but eventually he, too, was pulled into the fray, and simply HAD to hold Dean upside-down in the water for a moment, so Sam could tickle him. Had to! (Only a moment - he didn't wanna drown the kid!) Dean came up spluttering, raving nonsensically about the vengenance that would be his. John then found himself on the wrong end of all the madness, with his two sons launching themselves at him. All of a sudden he was under two feet of water, with Dean sitting on his chest, and Sam attacking his left foot. The boys knew it was useless to go for his guts or underarms - he just wasn't ticklish, there. But his feet? They were a different story! And damn it all, that was information his boys didn't need! After he'd wrenched himself free, and dunked the both of them repeatedly, they trudged up to the bathroom on the hill, where they dried off and dressed before getting back in the car. John let Dean play DJ all the way back to the motel, while Sam yelled over the music to explain what he had read in one of the park pamphlets about why the water on the eastern side of the lake was a shade greener than on the western side. It was a good three weeks, top-flight! About as close to 'normal' as they generally ever got. But they say that all good things must come to an end, and the end was announced with a telephone call one evening...

They weren't just parking it in small-town Iowa for the fun of it - fun as it was. There was a REASON they were there. John was a hunter, and this particular hunt was one he'd had to wait for a green-light on. He'd come knowing that there was an incarcerated alpha to be let go on parole at some point within the next few weeks. John knew the history, though it was others in the hunting community that had gathered it all together and made the case for putting him down. Though John was competent enough at the research and cover-up ends of things, he was far more likely to be found on the short list of hunters nominated to do the actual dirty-work, mostly because he was GOOD at it. There were precious few that could even come close to equaling him. It was well-known (among hunters) that John Winchester wasn't to be beat for speed, precision, and accuracy with most ANY weapon, and was a truly terrifying opponent in a fist-fight, as well. He could have served the cause admirably as a paper-pusher/phone jockey, but was put to FAR better use in the field.

The alpha he would be going after was one that not just anybody should have been sent to deal with. First of all, the man was built like a damn racehorse. John was sort of big for a beta, but this fellow was a mass of muscle that made even John look puny. He also had a hair-trigger temper, which was exactly why he wouldn't live much longer. He had a rap-sheet half a mile long, repeated arrests for assault and battery, domestic violence, and destructive rages in public. Even most of the rest of beta society was growing nervous and unsure about the man. So John was there to put him down once he was released.

It wasn't a decision that hunters made lightly. They didn't just take out any or all alphas indiscriminately. They weren't bloodthirsty by any means, since a few of them even had an alpha somewhere in their own families. They didn't kill people just for being alphas. A hit was made ONLY when there was sufficient evidence gathered that the alpha in question was too dangerous to permit to keep breathing. Many times, a very young alpha was let alone, even after a few violent episodes. They were human, after all, and humans were permitted to make a few mistakes, weren't they? Often it was decided that an alpha was just young, irresponsible, and immature, not really all THAT much worse than many betas. Some few alphas were even HELPED by mating with an omega - it calmed them down, gave their intense sexual drives an outlet, gave them a reason and motivation to "get respectable". Others, though, after careful observation, were just deemed too far gone. Bad habits - even VICIOUS ones - could be broken and overcome, but once they had fallen far enough to be considered psychopaths, insane and/or mentally incapacitated, they had never seen an alpha get back 'up', again. There was just a certain point after which they simply couldn't be rehabilitated. Most of society failed to recognize it until the damage was done, but "hunters" knew what to look for, the signs that pointed nowhere but down. Once spotted? They were removed.

The alpha John was there to put down was one that hunters had kept eyes on for a couple years, and were finally unanimous in agreeing needed to go. The man was still relatively young, but was indisputably a problem. He hadn't mated, yet, (thank God) but had gone through at least nine different beta girlfriends, each accusing him of worse abuse than the last. It was to the point now that he couldn't be free from jail for a whole month without the cops being called to deal with his violence again. And it wasn't even just domestic violence. The man had most recently been arrested for attacking someone in a grocery store, for grabbing the last of a certain size bottle of Coca-Cola on the shelf before he could get to it. He'd literally put a man in the hospital over that, with the poor guy's kids watching! That had been the most recent episode, but the decision to off him had been made a few days before that, when the man finally encountered an omega. New neighbors had moved in down the street, including a sixteen-year-old omega girl. Her heat had drawn him, banging on their door, waving a knife around. The parents had called the cops, who had arrived just in time to witness him kick in their living room window. He had been arrested, but had somehow managed to scrape together bail. Mere days later there was the grocery store incident. Even the beta-dominated court system wanted to keep him locked away this time, but his lawyer had pulled some strings and managed to convince the judge that what was needed was therapy, anxiety medication, and anger-management classes. The judge had agreed, and shortened his sentence on condition that he do all that. But for the hunters watching him, it was too little, too late. They knew just how much good all that would do. None. He wasn't an angry young beta with unresolved parental issues that just needed to learn to calm down and think before acting - he was a sick alpha that had fallen off the cliff, whose biochemistry had finally tipped the scale. He was a dead man walking, and John was going to finish him off just as soon as the man was released from jail.

John was sitting at the small motel table making notes in his journal while his boys argued over the remote, when the phone rang. It was Bobby, with a message from Ash, a young new "tech" guy not too much older than Dean. "He's been watching the feeds, says they're lettin' him go tomorrow, prob'bly 'bout nine-ish, with an appointment to see a psychiatrist next day at eleven. Are you on it, or do we send somebody else?" John paused, looked at his sons. "Yeah. Yeah, Bobby. I've got it."

John hung up, and stared at the back of his boys' heads for a minute. Yeah, he was on it. He didn't really feel like killing a man tomorrow, but he would, for THEIR sakes. Sorry bastard had tried breaking into a house, just so he could rape a 16-yr.-old girl at her most vulnerable. And THEN turned right around and beat the living daylights out of a young father, over a soft drink! It was obvious the guy was degenerating rapidly - they'd heard reports of him getting into brawls even while in jail. John wasn't going to let this one do what Azazel had done, wasn't going to let his sons (or anyone else's!) be included on the monster's victim list. He just hoped the bastard was eating well tonight, because tomorrow was the sorry fucker's last day.


	11. A Hunt

Neither Dean nor Sam had heard the short phone conversation the night before, but they could almost feel the tension in the air around their dad that next morning. He got them up a good hour earlier than usual, but answered no questions about why until after their run and showers. THEN he sat the boys down to speak with them, and before he'd even opened his mouth, they knew.

They knew. It had happened before, obviously. Had happened many times, at LEAST a couple times a year, for as long as they could remember. That was just what their dad did, and they were... well, ALMOST used to it. They understood why - that certain alphas became too dangerous, dangerous even to betas, but especially to omegas like themselves. They understood it, and accepted it, but that didn't stop the cold shiver down their spines or the twisting in their guts whenever John actually sat them down to announce that he was off to do it. They weren't so much reeling from shock, conscience, or empathy, as just from plain old fear. And what they were afraid of was losing their father. That was what the talk they were about to have was always about - going over worst-case-scenario plans. John may have been the best of the best, but that didn't mean that there wasn't still a very slight possibility that he might not return - whether because HE was the one that was killed, or because he was caught and put in prison. And John wanted his sons prepared.

So John told them what he would be doing that day. He made sure they had their IDs on them, just in case they needed to prove who they were to the authorities, if anyone but him needed to come for them. He made them recite both Bobby and Pastor Jim's full names, addresses, and phone numbers, because one of those gentlemen would become their legal guardian, should anything happen to him. He made sure each of them knew the name of the school the other was enrolled in, in case either needed to help Children's Services locate the other. And then...

...then John just held them. Under normal circumstances Dean would be loudly protesting the 'cuddling' just to spite himself, because he really DID enjoy it, but would never in a million years admit it. But mornings like these were hardly 'normal', regularly occurring as they were. The stakes were just too high. Neither boy said the first word as John pulled them in, tucking them under his arms. They leaned against him, just absorbing his warmth and breathing in his scent for over half an hour, while John just sat there, gripping them close, thumbs worrying the napes of their necks in a way that he had learned from Mary that omegas found soothing. They were silent. There really wasn't much to say. Maybe John could have told them he loved them. But he didn't need to - they already knew it. EVERYONE knew it. John Winchester's love for his sons was a point of no contention. Sure, he was hard-nosed about a lot of things. He didn't "spoil" his boys by any stretch of the imagination. They didn't get everything they wanted, went without a lot of small ordinary comforts, and were in many ways raised a lot like little soldiers. But still John's sons knew they were loved, loved something fierce and mighty. They knew that their dad would go to the ends of the earth, even to very Hell and back for them! And they loved him, too...

So they just sat there for a while. Realizing that time was ticking, John just closed his eyes and squeezed his boys closer to him. He knew that there were Christians out there waiting on the Second Advent, when they thought their Jesus would be coming back to make everything right. Well, if that was true, then the Christian God could sure get a move on any time, now, because John had long grown tired of dealing with horrors. As far as John was concerned, he sat clutching to him two-thirds of everything still worthwhile in the world - most of the rest of it could go to pot, for all he cared. John prayed silently that whether or not that God was really coming back to rescue them, at very least He might let him come back for his boys that afternoon. Please...?

Finally, having silently cycled through the entire emotional dictionary several times through, when they really couldn't justify just sitting there any longer, John sighed and kissed both the heads on either side of him. "Well, then. Let's go get breakfast..."

It was a quiet ride to the little "mom-and-pop" restaurant a few streets over. John didn't bother turning the radio up any higher than a slight background noise, and the boys exhibited none of their usual jousting and bickering. They walked into the restaurant with all the solemn seriousness of a funeral procession - an ironic thought that made John smile, in spite of himself. Sitting down and ordering, John watched his boys start eating, even as they watched him.

It was Dean that broke the silence. "Hey, Dad?" The boy's face was a study in hope. "Maybe... maybe we could go with you? I mean, maybe we could help..." John shook his head firmly. "No. Too dangerous. You know that. 'Sides, you've got school." Dean's face fell, but just a hint of a defiant spark flared in his eyes, all the same. "Aw, come on, Dad. You know we're pretty good shots, almost as good as you! At least we could keep you company-" "NO." John put his fork down. "It's not worth wasting the time to discuss it. You know the answer, and you know why." Dean slammed his own fork down. "Being an omega SUCKS! Bet I'd be a kick-ASS hunter. I know I would! YOU know I would!" The other diner patrons looking over reminded John to take a few breaths before responding softly. "I'm going to overlook your tone and language this morning, Dean. So you're going to settle down and watch yourself, so we can have a pleasant meal before I drop you two off at school. Understand me?" Dean's eyes and shoulders dropped; the boy suddenly lost the wind in his sails. "Yes, sir...", he whispered. John softened immediately, moving his knee to touch it to Dean's. "There's a lot of things you can do for me, son. This just isn't one of them." Dean looked back up, eyes bright with frustration. "I wanna help, Dad. Most hunters have back-up, but you don't have anybody. What if you need us?" John wished with all his might that they weren't out in public. They were, though, so he just patted Dean's shoulder and smiled. "I'll let you know, son!" Dean was NOT satisfied with that answer, but pinned by his dad's wary eyes, decided against saying anything else. He just stuffed his mouth full of hash browns...

Sam? Sam had spent most of this conversation staring out the window, gnawing slowly on a piece of raisin toast. John decided to pull him back to Earth. "And you, Sam. What would YOU like to yell and make a scene about?" Sam just looked at him, then looked at his plate. Then looked back up. "When it's all over..." He paused, John indicated for him to continue. "Maybe we can go back to the lake? Before we move again? Go swimming?" They were pulling on his heartstrings this morning! "Sure. And hold Dean down and tickle him? Good idea. Let's do that." Dean looked mildly insulted, (a good sign, that he was snapping out of his funk) and Sam laughed a little. So yeah. John would do that. If he lived and didn't go to prison (and he was fairly sure he wouldn't!) he would make a POINT of taking his boys by that lake again that evening, before they left for Michigan. They wouldn't be able to stay very long at all, but let someone try and stop him!

Dropping the boys off at school, with notes emphasizing that they were NOT to get on the bus that afternoon, (just in case he wasn't back exactly on time for dismissal) John hurried over to what HAD been his place of employment. He was early, plenty before eight, but Joe was already there. John walked in, glad he could quit face-to-face, and not have to just leave a note.

"John! You're early, man! You wanted extra hours, all you had to do was ask!" Joe was sitting at the desk, obviously in a good mood that morning. He was a good man to work for - honest, friendly, not nosy, and paid an actual fair, living wage. John had long since gotten used to the constant moving, but this was one job and person that he might actually miss a little. "Well, actually, Joe, I came to thank you..." Joe stopped what he was doing and looked up with a question on his face. John went on with, "I'm grateful for the work you've had for me these last few weeks. It's meant a lot, and been a pleasure working for you. If things were different, I'd stay and gladly, but I got a phone call last night, and it looks like we're going to have to move on." Joe started to interrupt, to ask questions and encourage John to change his mind, but John pressed on. "I have things I have to take care of. Details aren't important. I know it's sudden, so I hope you weren't really counting on me today, because I'll have to leave in a minute, and I won't be back. Just thought I should let you know, and say thank you." Joe looked a trifle flabbergasted, but just sat back in his chair. "Well, then. I've got a hundred questions, but you seem to be in a hurry. And you DID say you only wanted temporary work. So let me just thank YOU. The three weeks you've been here, I've gotten as much work done as I normally would in six. You've been a real asset, and I'm sorry to see you go, but..." He stood up to shake John's hand. "There'll always be a full-time position here for you, if you ever wanna come back for it."

And then John was off. It was only almost an hour's drive to the jail the next county over, but John needed to be there early, to make absolutely certain of not missing the alpha as he left. "Nine-ish" could mean him being let go any time between 8:30 and 10. But on the drive there, his mind DIDN'T wander. No, far from making him thoughtful, hunts temporarily narrowed his focus down to only the barest essentials: getting there, getting it done, and getting out - all as quickly and efficiently as possible. No games, frills, or anything else. Just a very mechanical doing of the job, hiding his tracks, and getting gone. John Winchester was all business...

For all the weeks of waiting, and all the emotional turmoil that morning? It was actually a surprisingly quick and easy hunt. From the back of the county correctional facility's parking lot, John watched as his quarry walked out the front door, escorted by two officers, plastic bag and manila folder in hand. John followed him down the street to a gas station pay phone, where the alpha made a call, then went inside for a beer and some chips before settling down on a bench out front. Less than half an hour later, a death-trap of a beat-up, rusted old red station wagon pulled up, that the alpha climbed into the passenger seat of. John followed at a slight distance. An easy hunt got even easier as John followed them out to a trailer in a less-populated area, somewhat out in the country. It wasn't the address listed as the alpha's home, or any of his close relatives. It was obvious that this was some "buddy" of his taking him in for a night or few. Seeing them turn in, John continued down the road a piece, before parking the car off the road behind some trees, grabbing a satchel of supplies, and heading back to the trailer on foot. Planting himself out of the way behind some bushes off to the side, John watched the alpha and what he assumed to be his beta friend wandering slowly back and forth from porch to kitchen and back again, over and over. The sheer amount of beer being put away could do nothing but help John, so he was content to bide his time, listening to snatches of their discussions about the alpha's most recent legal troubles. When talk turned to "that little piece of ass smelled SO sweet" that he just knew wanted it, his friend at least had the sense to point out that the girl was underaged, and sagely advised his friend to "just find a LEGAL pussy, man. Look at the trouble it got ya. Jail bait ain't worth it." The alpha crushed his half-empty can and threw it out in the yard, whining about how he, "Can't smell how fucking old they are!" The beta tried to cheer him up with talk of a bonfire the next night, where someone was bringing their sisters that would put out for anybody, and if they didn't, well, it was gonna be out behind McFaran's place, so who would know the difference? Be enough drink and drugs to make sure no one remembered anything, anyway. Maybe they'd steal some guy Dillan's truck while they were at it...

John stayed where he was for a good couple hours, waiting for the moment to ripen. The drunker they got, the easier his task would be, the less likely he was to be injured, himself. So John sat there, and just listened. It made him sick. Their talk made it plain that they were the bottom of the barrel, something John would be ashamed to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. Many a fine and decent man cussed and drank beer, but it was... everything. They weren't just crude, they were callous. They obviously had no respect for anyone or anything. They felt that the world owed them everything on a silver platter, that other people (but women especially) were just toys to play with and toss away, that no one had any rights or feelings worth considering but them. The yard was absolutely covered in garbage, the trailer itself in pitiful condition, no care being taken of it at all. John supposed that the "politically correct" opinion would be to pity them their poverty and ignorance, but all he really felt was disgust, and a sneaking suspicion that there probably weren't five people on the planet that would even care if both those trashy, useless men disappeared. But no - John shook his head. He couldn't get down on their level, couldn't be the same kind of rat they were. It wasn't his place to judge. He was just there to put a dangerous alpha down. He wouldn't hurt the beta, even if he wasn't really much better than his friend. Certain that both of them were now drunk enough that he didn't have to worry about them going anywhere anytime soon, John went back to the hidden Impala and got out a shovel. He trudged into the woods a bit further, and dug a sufficiently deep hole. Leaving the shovel there, he went back to the trailer...

Both of the men were sitting on fold-out chairs on the porch, so schlochered they could scarcely hold their heads up, the beta dumping his beer everywhere, the alpha half asleep, tongue lolling. Reaching into the pack behind him, John pulled out, not a regular gun, but a tranquilizer gun. Edging close enough to the side of the house that he could see to make a clear shot, he aimed FIRST for the beta. The beta would get to live, and so didn't need to see or remember anything he could report to the police. John got him just above the collarbone, and he was completely out in seconds. The alpha jumped a little, and stared at his friend, confused and slurring, "Jeff? Jeff, you... what you doing? You got somethin' in yer neck, man..." John was able to walk all the way up to the porch steps before the alpha noticed him, with a, "Hey. You-" John shot THREE darts into the alpha's neck and chest, just to be sure. He yanked the darts from both men and stuffed them in his bag, before hefting the alpha over his shoulder.

This was always one of the hardest parts of the job, when he needed to actually carry one of these bulky, cumbersome assholes. He wasn't going to just shoot him and leave him on the porch for the police to find, so he had to actually physically remove the guy out to the woods. John looked anxiously toward the road, but saw nothing. it was a little-used back road, and the trailer was set quite a ways back from it, but it WAS broad daylight, so John still wanted to be cautious. With a sigh and a grunt, he re-hoisted the man and took off towards the trees. What had been a five minute walk before, was then an almost 20 minute walk back to the hole he'd dug. Finally there, he dropped the unconscious (and ridiculously heavy) man into the hole, pulled out a real handgun, closed his eyes a moment, and then fired six times....


	12. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the emphasis on John's POV might only have a LITTLE bit to do with the fact that I have recently had to deal with a gentleman at work whose real-life, actual, legal name is - (wait for it!) - John Winchester. I think I do a fabulous job of not grinning like an idiot at him, or letting any of my amusement bleed into my voice... :)

It was only after he'd re-filled the hole the man was in, covered the bare spot on the ground with a log and several fallen branches, and started driving back in his boys' direction again that John finally allowed himself to THINK. And really? He didn't know what he thought. It certainly needed to be done. He wasn't proud of it, but he didn't regret it, either. He just... he wondered sometimes. What if HIS boys had been alphas, instead of omegas? Would he have been able to do anything at all in raising them to prevent their turning out like THAT? The alpha he had killed that day gave off the vibe of some low-life redneck, but John had read up on the man's family. He came from a solid middle-class home, perfectly ordinary, respectable betas with decent office jobs. The alpha's parents were as All-American apple pie as people came, church-goers, white house in the suburbs. Surely they had tried to raise their son better than that. Hadn't they? But who really knew, maybe they HADN'T. John wasn't much of a philosopher, really, but he couldn't help but wonder how much of it was nature, how much nurture. Though from what he had seen of alphas, it certainly SEEMED as though nature held the upper hand...

But then, he wasn't at all sure of that. There were a couple alpha hunters he had met, alphas that had seen the harm done by other alphas in their families, and had turned their back against it. Alphas that took every possible precaution they could to prevent their own slide into insanity. John had nothing but respect for those men. They kept regular appointments with doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, dieticians, even acupuncturists. No one knew exactly what did or didn't trigger an alpha's descent, so those poor guys did everything they could think of to just keep themselves CALM. The only real adrenaline-rush excitement they ever let themselves have was during hunts. Poor guys were so terrified of what they could turn out to be that they took lavender bubble-baths and drank chamomile tea, just because that stuff was supposed to soothe the nerves. John had absolutely no idea whether any of that was actually beneficial or not, but the fact that they had given themselves to the hunting community, ASKING others to take them out before they could hurt anyone if they ever started to slip? It reaffirmed John's belief in free-will.

He did feel a bit for the parents of the alpha he'd killed. John didn't know what, if anything, they had ever done to try and redirect their son, but anywhere from a few days to a few weeks from now, they would get the news that their boy was missing. And he would most likely never be found. John didn't know how he would handle it, if his boys came up missing. He'd likely lose his mind, do something stupid. He'd already lost Mary, he couldn't tolerate losing them, too!

John sighed. His boys. He would be infinitely glad to get back to them, but he always dreaded the dismayed pout Sam gave him every time they moved. But hey! Maybe this time would be different. He HAD promised to take the boys swimming for a short that evening. Maybe he would just pick them up from school early, so they could have more time there. That would have to make it easier, right? If moving meant fun? John debated with himself for a moment, though. The boys' school attendance was spotty enough, as it was; it might just be better to let them finish the day. But then, it was their last day there. How much would they really learn, how much would they really miss out on? With all the moving they did, anyway, did one afternoon really even matter that much? Rolling into town, John made up his mind. He had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the day until they would get out, with no job, and no hunt. They had packed everything they owned into the trunk that morning and given the room key back, so he didn't even have a motel to go wait in. AND he just wanted to see them, reassure them that he was back, that he was fine, that THEY were fine. In just a couple weeks, the weather would start changing, and it would soon be too cold to swim. They should take advantage of it as much as they could now, right? Yeah, John's mind was made up. He was getting his boys!

After stopping at a pay phone to anonymously call the police, letting them know to watch for illegal doings near a "McFaran's" the next night, (just in case that "Jeff" fellow had been serious about the possibility of those girls being raped), he got Dean first, knowing that Dean had probably been fretting and stewing all day, and WOULD until he saw his dad. The big grin Dean rewarded him with as the kid walked into the office with was all he needed to feel certain he'd made the right decision - though there was a hint of bewilderment on Dean's face. Apparently Dean had already made it plain that today would be his last day there, so the receptionist already had a copy of his transcript and cumulative record ready and waiting for John to carry to whatever school was next. Ms. Receptionist actually looked a little sad at Dean leaving, and gave him a whole HANDFUL of Tootsie Rolls, telling him not to forget them, because they'd surely remember him. Dean felt obligated to hug the lady, after that. John shook the principal's hand, thanked him and his staff for looking out for his boy. With a nudge from his dad, Dean shook hands, too. 

Out in the car, Dean rolled the windows down quickly, giving his dad the absolute strangest look John had ever seen. "So it went OK? You gotta tell me all about it-" Dean suddenly stopped, looking ill. "But DAD. That smell..." John tensed. Oh, hell. THAT was what had inspired the confused look Dean gave him inside. His boys had always had hyper-sensitive noses, but he hadn't stopped to think how the smell of drunk alpha all over him might affect Dean now that he had presented. He slowed down and looked Dean over. Dean was hunched in on himself, staring at his dad, looking nervous, with an obvious erection. Damn it... He should have stopped at a truck stop or something, taken a shower before he showed up. But now John was curious. He had to ask, had to know just what was going on. "Sorry, Dean. Didn't think to wash it off. It really affects you that much?" Dean shifted, looking uncertain. "I dunno, Dad. It's just STRONG." But John had to know. Alphas and omegas were both so rare. Just plain asking was probably the only way he would ever know for sure just what an alpha's scent did to his boy, how he should best deal with things. "But Dean, tell me. I need to know, son. What does it do to you? Besides the obvious." Dean blushed and looked out the window, speaking low. "I mean, I don't really LIKE it. I don't, Dad. SMELLS as crazy as you said he was. But I can't help it..." John pushed past that. That was the obvious part. "Dean. It's awkward, I know. But tell me, anyway. If this smell was alive and walking up to you, and it wasn't on me? HOW WOULD YOU RESPOND? What would you do? And why?" John wasn't usually one for digging around and psychoanalyzing things. But he suddenly realized that he really did need to know. He had heard that alpha scents often prompted omegas into going submissive and compliant, but he'd never had occasion to know whether or not that was true. He really thought it would be difficult to tell, anyway - most omegas were just so naturally obedient, most of the time. But now here was an omega reacting to an alpha's scent. Anything his boy could tell him about the experience might help him to better protect him in future. 

Dean shifted again. "What, what do you mean? I'd respond... like this? Don't think I'd do anything special. I'd just be like this. I wouldn't roll over and spread my legs, or anything..." Dean's voice faded out to nothing at the end. John looked at him with compassion. "But son, even if you didn't, does it make you WANT to?" Dean curled in on himself in embarrassment, but still managed a whispered answer. "Not really. I mean, it's sort of half... I don't know. Arousing. (boy was blushing fit to die, now) But I don't like it. It turns me on, but not like I'd wanna be turned on." John had rolled his window down, too. Dean breathed deeply as the smell waned. Whispered, "It's just like, Oh. Hard on." He looked at his dad. "But I don't like it. I don't want it. I wouldn't... go with anybody just 'cause they smell like that." He thought for a second. "I'd probably run the other way, to tell you the truth. It's weird. You can smell that he isn't - wasn't OK. Off, somehow." John nodded, thinking. He just had to FINISH the thought, then they could change the subject, and his son's face could get back to a normal color again. "But you honestly think you'd be able to resist a smell like that, if it was coming on to you, making an offer? Asking?" Dean was mortified. "Yeah, Dad. I do. I mean, my dick would probably be mad about it for a minute, but I'm pretty sure my brain would still have the final say. And my brain DOESN'T actually like that smell. Smells sick." John sighed, and Dean leaned out of the window, but then turned back. Now HE had to know. "So... does that mean you don't ever want me to go for an alpha? Even if they're NOT sick like that one?" John gripped the steering wheel tighter. He'd never thought about it, that his sons might WANT an alpha. But the answer rolled off his tongue before he could even think too hard about it. "Son, I'm not going to tell you who to mate with, or who NOT to mate with. Not after you're eighteen, anyway." He pulled into the middle school parking lot and pulled the key out of ignition, turning to face Dean. "I'm not letting an alpha anywhere near you, not now. Not for years yet. Not while you're still my responsibility. But once you're a legal adult, it's your choice." He paused a moment, gazing at Dean. "But I hope once you're grown, you'll have had enough time to get your head on straight and THINK. Even betas let their hearts and hormones run away with them sometimes, even without heats and scent issues." He spoke softer. "There're some half-way decent alphas out there. Met a few. But there's a lot more that are... hunts. And more than a thousand times as many betas of either gender. So Dean, if and when it comes to that..." John shook his head and got out of the car. "Just use your head, son."

They walked inside to get Sam. Sam, unlike Dean, had NOT let anyone at the school know that he would be moving, so John and the secretary were still gathering papers together when Sam burst through the door. "Dad! Dean!" He practically leaped into his dad's embrace, overjoyed to see them... Until it hit him. THEN his lip wobbled. "We're... moving early?" John was determined to nip it in the bud, cut it off at the pass. He smiled at his son as they walked back outside. "Well, we'll need extra time for the plans we made for the lake, right? If we wanna spend any time there, at all..." "OH!" Sam perked right back up at that, "Yeah!" John nodded. "Yeah. Plans. I need to jump in the water, anyway. Dean wants this smell off." Sam leaned closer to sniff. "Yeah. Some sick guy. Is that him?" John nodded, "Is it that bad?" Sam sniffed, again. "Smells dirty, but it's not TOO bad." John looked at Dean, who shrugged. "It's going away some, now." They left the windows down all the way to the lake, anyway...


	13. Chemical Helps

Over the next few years their finances, which had always been tight, anyway, became steadily more of an issue. John had known that two growing boys would cost him progressively more and more over the years, but he frequently found himself overwhelmed at just how unprepared he was to make ends meet. It wasn't at all because John wasn't trying. No one could call him a dead-beat or a bum; he found work in just about every town they stopped in for more than a couple days, worked hard and well. He was exceedingly careful with their funds: they stayed at only the very cheapest inns and motels, used coupons when they could, tried to make everything last as long as possible. They only bought clothes second-hand and even THEN only when they were truly necessary. Well, except shoes and underwear. Some remaining trace of pride and dignity demanded that John buy THOSE things new. And good shoes were just too important, with as much as they ran and traveled.

But what was really swamping him and draining him dry were the pills, the "scent suppressants" he'd put Dean on. Alphas and omegas both put off much stronger body odors than betas, and had much sharper senses of smell, too. Though betas just barely noticed it even in the closest of proximities, a presented omega like Dean was a giant flaming scent-beacon to any alpha within two hundred yards - or more! For Dean to walk around exuding his natural scents in a town with alphas in it would just ASK for trouble - he'd be like fresh, bloody meat in a shark tank, like a giant sunflower near a beehive! But "scent suppressants" helped tamp it down some, restricted the amount of pheromones released. They wouldn't completely cure an omega of their distinctive smell, but they would help insure that scent trails would be weaker, and meant that an alpha would have to get much, much closer before being able to pick up on the presence of an omega. They significantly reduced the chances of Dean being stalked or attacked, and so were an expense John was willing to accomodate.

But they were expensive! OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive! And there wasn't an insurance company in the world that would pay for them, not even in part. Not even the fantastic coverage the government offered John as a US military veteran would. They were never considered "medically necessary", and so had to be paid for completely out-of-pocket. The fact that there was such tiny, trickling little demand for them upped the price, too. Not even a full 1% of the population was either alpha OR omega, and not all omegas felt need of them. Mated ones certainly didn't. So scent suppressants were a super-specialty item. The one and only company on the planet that made them could and DID exploit the small but insistent demand. They could charge what they pleased, which wound up being absolutely as much as an average medium-income household could possibly afford. But the Winchesters were not an average medium-income household, and the monthly expense was a burden that took a heavy toll. Just one month's worth of the little white tablets that Dean popped each morning cost almost twelve hundred dollars, if ordered through a pharmacy. Purchasing straight from the company knocked a few hundred dollars off, but still ran almost a thousand dollars. The hunting community, though, had spent generations cultivating networks to obtain various sorts of supplies, and so could (by calling the right people at the right time and saying the right things) get hold of a month's worth for significantly less, at only about $700. But that was still $700! Seven hundred that John had to cough up each month! But he never questioned it, never wavered in his commitment to obtaining the things for Dean every thirty days. After all. If only Mary had been on them, maybe she'd have still been with them...

So John plowed ahead, and just did the best he could. He found himself leaving the boys alone in the room for a few hours in the evenings more often, to supplement his wages by playing cards and hustling pool in seedy bars and juke joints. It had never been more than a very RARE last resort before Dean's presentation, but it soon became an almost weekly excursion. As desperate as he was, John might have tried it more often, but a couple hours of wondering how his boys were, of hoping and praying that they were alright and had sense enough to follow his instructions while gone? Yeah. Once a week seemed to be about all John's nerves could stomach. Because he hated it, HATED it. Not the suckering drunks into handing over their week's pay, but the leaving his boys alone. Anything at all could happen, and he wouldn't be there to protect them. It made him nauseous to think of it.

It wasn't that John didn't trust his boys. He did. They were good kids, and were extraordinarily well trained on the weapons he left with them. But all that could easily mean nothing if some alpha ever snuck up on them when they weren't expecting it, before they could get themselves together enough to defend themselves. It was other people he didn't trust! The ONLY reason he was willing to leave them by themselves ever at all, was because of the "salt". Not real table salt, or even rock salt, but a white, irregularly-granulated chemical compound with a technical name three 15-letter words long that was nearly indistinguishable from regular salt. 

"Salt", thankfully, was one thing John could get loads of for free. Hunters were often able to get hands on useful things for cheaper than the going rates, but "salt" was something that actually very, very few people that WEREN'T hunters ever saw or even knew about. It was a team of chemists working WITH hunters some 80-90 years before that had invented it, long before the advent of the astronomically priced "scent suppressants". Not only did it help absorb human odors off of the surfaces it was scattered on, but it also functioned somewhat as a mild alpha repellant! Betas like John couldn't smell it - it was too faint. The stuff was truly almost impossible to tell from regular salt, just from looking or smelling. Only when the stuff was tasted could a beta tell it from regular table salt. Far from being salty, the stuff was nasty and bitter. Alphas and omegas, however, COULD smell it. Sam and Dean insisted on describing the smell as 'bubbly', 'prickly', and 'tickly', even though John objected that those were words more applicable to the sense of touch than the sense of smell. His boys couldn't really think of any other way to describe it, though, so John was forced to take their word on it. To alphas, though, the stuff just smelt awful. The two alpha hunters John was acquainted with didn't have a good word to describe it, either - they just said it smelt like shit, no, not literally, and just keep it away, please! Of course, as the only alphas the hunters had to turn to, they were still regularly called on to sniff the stuff, and check whether quantities of it were still good, or not. (The stuff did expire, though it took years.) Poor guys always growled about it but sniffed anyway, and most always came up looking a little green around the gills...

The stuff didn't hurt them; it was completely non-toxic. Someone would have to consume POUNDS of it before it would poison them. But the alpha-deterring aspect was too good to pass up on. John kept sacks, whole buckets, of the stuff on hand. They sprinkled it all over the floors of whatever motel room they were staying in, all over the floorboards of the Impala. They lined the windowsills with it, scattered it on the walkways outside the doors. John even made the boys sprinkle some inside their shoes and put pinches of it in all of their pockets whenever they went outside. Of course, it had to be continuously reapplied, since any contact with water nullified it. But that was why John kept such quantities on hand all the time! "Salt" was just part of the fabric of their lives, and quite honestly the ONLY reason John ever even considered leaving his boys alone - for any period time, whatsoever.

But John blessed the souls of the stuff's inventors, because it gave him some slight consolation when he had to leave his boys for a while. He worked when he could, but sporadic temp jobs paying only a slight bit over the minimum wage just weren't cutting it, anymore. He DID know how to pull off credit card scams, and began doing it more and more often, but he didn't try purchasing the pills that way, though they were undeniably one of the biggest items on their list of things to budget in. John wouldn't DARE risk leaving any kind of paper trail that might lead an alpha to his boys - no matter how false all the information he used might be. And really, it wasn't safe to use fake cards on a regular basis, anyway. As the years went by, those sorts of scams got harder and harder to pull off, the perpetrators actually caught more often. And a tank of gas or a few nights in a motel didn't seem a worthy enough reason to go to jail and leave his boys, so John only resorted to that on those few occasions when it was TRULY necessary, when he absolutely didn't have any other means of providing. Besides, it was always a bit of a blow to his pride, a bitter pill of his own to swallow. John Winchester wasn't at all ashamed of doing something illegal when he needed to, (couldn't be, if he was going to be a hunter!) but he felt that a man ought to be able to work and provide for his own family, and it hurt when he couldn't.

So games and bets, it was. John was good at it, really good at it. Not the best ever, by any means, but he always came out ahead, even if not by as much as he'd hoped. After all, even fifty dollars for two hours' 'work' was pretty good, compared to what he made in garages! And he usually made off with a bit more than that. Of course, it disappeared near as quick as he made it, but every little bit helped...

But it wasn't a thing all bad. Probably the best part of those near-weekly evening outings for John (other than the much-needed money) was coming back to the room after and discovering just what all his boys had been up to. Because Sam and Dean couldn't just kick back, relax, and watch TV for a couple hours. Of course not! That would be entirely too serene and sensible. With no supervision and no one to tell them otherwise, they naturally felt obliged to conjure up creative ways to amuse themselves and make messes. Their endeavors might range from the mild (catching and tossing balled socks with 'nets' made by stretching pillowcases over bent coat hangers) to the stroke-inducing (water fights that left the bathroom flooded half an inch deep!). Once John even came back to find the furniture completely rearranged, the beds taken apart and the mattresses and box springs pushed end-to-end to make one long strip across the room that they were using like a trampoline/gymnastic mat. Apparently Sam had recently learned to do backflips and wanted to practice, and Dean had insisted that they do it on the beds so that Sam wouldn't bust his head on the carpet-covered concrete. 'Safety first' was hard to fault kids for! But no matter what his sons came up with in his absence, it never failed to amuse John. He always wound up shaking his head and just telling them to get busy cleaning it up.


	14. Sam Was ALWAYS Hard-headed

Well, almost always. Only ONCE did the boys' doings while he was gone ever make John lose his cool. In hindsight, he realized he should have taken it for the omen it was, a foretaste of things to come...

Sam had been going on for days about some extraordinary lunar event to take place, something about a unique type of ring around the moon that was supposed to appear at the same time that some outer-space dust cloud that only circled around about once every 110 years swung by behind it when it was full. It was seriously all Sam could talk about for almost a week (the little nerd) and it had started driving Dean crazy. Sure, it would probably be kinda cool to see, but did Sam really have to drive everybody up the wall obsessing over it? Apparently he did. For four days in advance, John and Dean got thoroughly educated in all the various aspects of Newtonian physics that made such a grand spectacle possible. For nearly a week, they patiently let Sam yammer on about shifts of orbit, gravity, the angle of the sun's rays, and atmospheric particles until Dean wasn't at all sure he wouldn't just puke. He began to seriously wish it would just happen, already, so they could go outside, see it, and just let Sam "ooohh" and "aaahh" and get it out of his system. John wasn't nearly so annoyed with it as Dean. He was glad Sam had found something to be enthused about, and so promised Sam that they would go out and see it, even promising to let Sam use his binoculars!

It would be visible for two consecutive nights, but when it came the first day of the lunar display, Sam was not satisfied. Sure, John had promised to take the boys out to see it, but only AFTER he spent a couple hours raking in what he could at the bar a couple blocks away. The first night of the sky-show was a Saturday, and Saturday nights could hardly be beat for a good night to collect cash. Money flowed more freely ONLY only Fridays, but Fridays were often just too busy to bother pushing through the crowds, not to mention that after a week of work and school, John usually just wanted to spend an evening relaxing with his sons. So 9 times out of 10, it was a Saturday night when John went out that way. Having a fairly more-or-less set routine about it was usually reassuring to Sam, but not THAT day. Sam was all agitated and whiny, because apparently the best time to view the cloud and ring in all their glory would be around 8:20pm, and John wouldn't be back until a little after 9:00. Of course the ring/cloud display would still be shining then, (and the next night, too) but Sam was upset because they might not be able to see the full spectrum of color that late, and it wouldn't be quite as bright. John wasted a few seconds contemplating giving in, but almost immediately decided against it. Saturday nights were just too profitable, and especially in THAT town. The week before, John had come back to the room with more than $400 - more than a week's pay at the tire shop he was then working at! There was no guarantee that he'd take that much again, but John wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by! Nope. They needed it too badly. Sam could just wait and have a look at the moon later that night, and if he didn't get to see EVERY last possible shade of cream/ivory/beige/ecru in it, then that was just the breaks!

Announcing that didn't put an end to it as quickly as he had hoped, though. Sam continuted to pout and moan about it ALL DAY, and ALL EVENING. He got a friend and a couple teachers at school to promise to take photos at peak viewing time, but still he mumbled about how unfair it all was. "Pictures won't capture EVERYTHING. The brightness, maybe, but not the color-shift. I'm still gonna miss that!" John had stopped reminding him that he would still get to see much of it later that evening after about the fiftieth repeat, and just switched to plain old ignoring it. Dean tried to make him feel better by pointing out there were surely gonna be nerdy science magazines out soon with GOOD pictures of it in them that they could look at in the library, which did nothing but start Sam up again about how unfair it was that he couldn't see it HIMSELF. John stayed silent as long as he could stand to, right up until Sam started whinging about how he wasn't even missing out on it for a GOOD reason, at which point John heatedly asked if Sam liked eating, wearing clothes that fit, and having a roof over his head at night. "Yes-" "Then that's it. That's your reason. Nothing else about it, Sam. It's done." Sam crossed his arms and glowered, until a LOOK from John made him drop his eyes. "Yes, sir..." Nothing else WAS said about it until sundown, when John began making preparations to go.

"Dad, are you SURE? I mean, you don't have to TONIGHT. Not this time, just this once-" John turned steely eyes on him. "I'm going, Sam. Decision's been made. And I told you I was done hearing it. I'll take you out there to look at it when I get back." Sam bit his lip and looked away, and John stood near the door, looking everything over one last time before he left, before levelling eyes at Dean. "Dean. I'll be gone about two hours, give or take. No need worrying until after 9:30. If something comes up and I have to be longer, I'll call, so make sure you answer the phone if it rings. You boys got weapons at the ready?" Of course they did, John KNEW they did. He'd placed them at the ready, himself, but John needed to hear them say it, just to be CERTAIN they knew what they had and where they were. Both boys nodded, but it was Dean that spoke, knowing the drill and it's importance. "Yes, sir. One pistol in the bedstand, another in the top right drawer. Bowie under my pillow. Pocket-knives on top of our duffels." John nodded. "Emergency happens, who do you call?" Again, Dean. "After 911? The bar and ask for you. (that number read off of the notepad by the phone) If no you, then Bobby or Pastor Jim." Those numbers were recited. John nodded again. "Good." He looked at Sam, who'd said nothing, but just stood there, staring at the floor. "Sam?" Boy looked up. "You listen to your brother. You know the rules. Stay in the room. Keep the curtain closed, the door locked. Redo 'salt' lines after I walk out. You hear me?" Sam shifted in place. "Yes, sir." John stared at him a moment, then turned to Dean, again. "You look after Sam while I'm gone." Dean nodded somberly, dutiful as always. "Yes, sir!" John flicked serious eyes between his sons for a second, before softening into a smile. "Alright, then. Behave yourselves. See you boys in a bit." And then he left.

Dean moved immediately to replenish the 'salt' line at the door, while Sam just stood there, looking ruffled and unsure. Dean slapped him on the back. "So? We got two hours. Whatcha wanna do, Francis?" Giving Sam time to make up his mind, Dean elected to flop back on one of the beds and finish off a bag of chips. Sam just huffed and slammed himself down onto a chair, before giving a predictible answer. "Look at the moon!" Dean rolled his eyes even as he rolled his entire self. "Yeah, well. What else?" Sam kicked his feet impatiently. "Nothing else, Dean! Don't you get it? This only happens once every 110 years. Nothing else we do tonight is gonna top that!" Dean wadded up the newly-empty chip bag. "And don't YOU get that you're not gonna totally miss it? Dad SAID he'd take us out there when he got back. Geez, man, we've been telling you the same shit over, and over, and over. Just get your damn panties out of a wad and chill!" He threw the chip bag at Sam's head. Sam blocked it and sighed. "Ugh... I just... I don't get it. Why can't he do the bar thing later? Or tomorrow? This is kinda special, you know..." Dean really had nothing to say to that, and so just turned the TV on, asking, "Yo. Pick a show. Star Trek, or I Love Lucy? 'Cause we done missed Dr. Sexy, dang it..." Sam snorted. "Neither. We can watch old reruns any time. We can only see this ring at its best with this cloud behind it tonight!" Dean clicked the TV back off. "Yeah, who wants to watch THOSE old shows, when I can watch Sammy be a bitch about it, live?" He threw a pillow at Sam, who leaped up and began whaling on Dean's head with it. "Eat fluff, you stinking jerk!" The rather intense pillow fight that insued actually succeeded in lifting Sam's spirits a bit. They were both soon laughing, and took a break to open and devour a second full bag of chips. They laid on one of the beds, taking turns throwing chip pieces up for the other to try and catch in their mouth, and getting crumbs absolutely EVERYWHERE. Boy, would the maid love them the next day!

They laid there for over an hour, tossing chip bits and talking whatever randomness popped into their heads: dumb jokes they'd heard, a two-tailed cat they'd spotted the other day, the relative merits of cookies vs. brownies. At some point Dean started waxing near-poetic on the amazing chest of some girl in his English class, a topic which Sam - at eleven-and-a-half, almost twelve - had only recently just begun to really appreciate. Sam hesitatingly admitted to having seen a pretty girl or two in the halls of his own school. Dean, of course, (ever the good big brother!) demanded descriptions of the fair creatures that had caught Sammy's eye, offering his professional opinion, as well as unsolicited advice that would never be taken on how Dean thought it best to approach and win the hearts of these young tween beauties. Sam just got up, poured himself a cup of apple juice, and let Dean ramble, taking all THAT with a grain of salt.

It was as Sam was coming back that he happened to glance at the digital alarm clock between the beds, where flashing red numerals proclaimed that it was 8:09PM. Sam sucked in a breath, suddenly remembering the surely-dazzling lunar display he would be missing in about ten minutes. He turned abruptly to Dean. "Dean! Let's go out and see it!" Dean had gotten so lost in his monologue on feminine charms that he had actually forgotten what Sam referred to. "Huh? Dude, we don't even know where they ARE, how would we-" Sam waved his hands, cutting Dean off. "No, Dean. Not the girls! The MOON!" Dean's face registered instant disapproval. "No way! We're not leaving this room, not 'til Dad gets back!" Sam ran his hands through his hair, blowing out through his nose, looking beseechingly at his brother. "Come on, man. We don't have to really LEAVE. We can just step out in the parking lot, take a look, come back in before Dad gets back! He'll never know!" Dean snorted. "Dad's an ex-Marine, and a hunter. It's his JOB to know stuff. He knows HOW to know stuff! Of course he'll know! So no. Don't even think about it. Just grab a snack or something, and sit down. He'll be back in like an hour, you'll see it then." Sam stomped his foot. "But Dean, the best part will be OVER in an hour! In, like, twenty minutes! So if we wanna see it, we gotta go out there NOW!" Dean shook his head. "Nuh, uh. No frickin' way. Dad says no, you know he means no. 'Sides, he left me in charge, and I'm saying no, too. So that's like a TRIPLE no. 'Cause going outside after dark without Dad is always no, anyway, even if there wasn't a fancy moon. So... no."

Sam stared at Dean long and hard for a minute, fists clenched at his sides. Dean was just about to wave him back down onto the bed again so he could toss another chip piece, when Sam suddenly gave a strong hint about what kind of teenager he would turn out to be in another couple years, as he spun on his heels and stomped towards the door. "Screw this, I'm going, anyway." Dean was up and in front of the door before Sam could even reach it. "Like hell you are! Dad said stay in the room!" Sam gritted his teeth and tried to reach past Dean. "Yeah, well, I DID stay in the room. Until I left it! And I'll stay some more when I come back in!" Dean shoved Sam backwards. "That's bullshit, man! Why can't you just do what the hell Dad said and just wait? He's got seriously good REASONS why he tells us to stay in!" The two of them were full-on wrestling, now, still arguing. "BECAUSE! I KNOW there's creeps out there, but I'm just going out in the parking lot for a minute! I'll be right freaking back!" "What if you AIN'T right back? What if some sicko pulls up and gets you?" Sam was panting, struggling mightily to keep Dean from pinning him. "Then come with me! They couldn't take BOTH of us!" Dean flinched as Sam caught him in the knee. "Hell fucking NO! Even if we got away from some knothead asshole, we wouldn't get away from Dad! You wanna deal with him when he gets back, and you left the room??? He'd be fucking PISSED!" Sam wriggled out from underneath Dean and tried to make a dash for it, before being grappled again. "He's been pissed all day, anyway!" (Dean was torn between focusing on pinning arms or legs - all of which were going everywhere. In none of their fighting lessons had Sam ever resisted capture/immobilization this long or well. Why tonight???) "Yeah? Well, that's YOUR fault, man! Wonder why? 'Cause you're the whiny-ass little bitch that's been driving everybody crazy about the damn moon all fucking day! Get over yourself and just WAIT!" Sam flailed harder than ever before. "Screw you! Always telling me what to freaking do! I'm not a baby anymore, I just wanna see something I wanna see, and I'll come right back in here!" "Yeah, I'm telling you what to freaking do! Telling you to quit fucking kicking me and WAIT FOR DAD, BITCH!" And with that, Dean at last managed to completely pin Sam, rolling his little brother into a kneeling ball and curling himself over top of him, sitting on Sam's lower back and holding his wrists beneath his stomach. Sam SCREAMED his defiant frustration...!

A few minutes later, Sam finally gave up his squirming and yelling, tears of pure aggravation streaming down his face. Dean didn't even feel victorious, just tired and annoyed as hell. He just stayed draped over and around his brother, nothing like sure that Sam wouldn't try to bolt again if he got up. So they just stayed there, for almost fifteen minutes. Dean's nose began to itch, so he scratched it on the back on Sam's shirt. Sam half growled at that. "One day when I'm bigger, Dean. One day when we're the same size, you won't be able to do this to me, anymore." Dean huffed a laugh. "BIG brother, Sammy. BIG brother." Sam's hummed his annoyance; his foot twitched. "Not forever, you BIG jerk. Little brothers grow up. Just you wait." He sniffed. They stayed in that position for another minute or two, until they were both getting uncomfortable. "I think my leg's falling asleep, Dean." Dean grunted and loosened his hold a little, easing the downward pressure. "Not gonna run, are ya?" Sam sniffed again, and sighed. "No." Dean hummed. "Letting you go, then. Trusting you, man. Mostly 'cause I'm gonna have to, anyway. I gotta piss." Sam wriggled. "Then get up and go! Don't do it on ME!" Dean slowly eased up and off of Sam, who tried to bounce up, but was slowed somewhat by his stiffness, having been locked in one tight position for so long. The two stood there looking at each other, wobbling a little, stretching, working out the kinks in their arms. Dean finally looked away. "So... I'm going to the bathroom." Sam gave him a face. "Fine. Go, already." So he did.

Sam heaved a great sigh, and plopped down on the end of a bed. Well... ugh. He looked at the window, and thought of the moon out there. But even if he'd opened the curtains to peer out, it wouldn't have done him any good. The window faced east, and the moon was in the southwest that night. Behind the building, then. Sam glanced at the clock - 8:32PM. He started to sigh again, then paused his foot mid-kick. The colorful portion of the display MIGHT still be visible...! He glanced at the bathroom door, quickly weighing the odds. Dean hadn't even been in there a whole full minute, yet. He wouldn't be able to get back IN before Dean caught him, but if he made a mad dash of it, just maybe he could glimpse the ring prism for just a moment or two, before Dean dragged him back inside? He didn't think long - Sam was out that door!

Dean walked out of the bathroom just in time to see the door close - and his heart jumped! SAM! Outside! Sammy, alone, in the dark! Dean sprang into action instantaneously, on auto-pilot, FLYING out the door after his little brother. "SAM! Get back here!" It didn't even cross Dean's mind to stop and contemplate the fact that HE had never been outside at night without their dad, either. If anyone had asked him to imagine it, he would probably have tensed up: partly from uncertainty, partly from fear - of both possible alpha attackers AND his dad's wrath. But none of that was actually on Dean's mind in that moment. All Dean could think was Get Sam - Sam alone in the dark - WATCH OUT FOR SAM...!

Dean burst out into the parking lot, frantic. He spotted his little brother bouncing backwards towards the trees, arching his neck to try and see over the building. Dean sped over, tackling Sam in a bear hug, trying to drag him back. "SAM! What the fuck? Get back in the room!" Sam slithered out of Dean's arms, shoving his hands away. "Leggo, Dean! Just gimme a second, I'm trying to see!" Dean grabbed him again, gripping tighter this time. "NO! The ROOM, Sam! Fucking NOW!" Dragging wasn't working, so Dean was trying to LIFT Sam and carry him. But all that was actually happening was the beginnings of another wrestling match, only this time they remained on their feet. In all the chaos of their struggle, neither boy noticed the Impala pulling in...!


	15. In Trouble

It had been a good night for John, a GOOD night. A good night in what he was convinced was the best town he'd ever been in for gambling of any sort. People there were just so WILLING, and so unskilled on top of it! Almost made him feel bad for the poor suckers throwing their money away with such zest. That night was one of the best he'd had at it in years. He'd made $854 in an hour and a half! As fantastically well as he was doing, and so easily, he was half tempted to just keep at it for a while. But a glance across the table gave him a brief look at someone's mostly-brown hazel eyes and reminded him of Sam, of his two boys waiting on him. He'd already taken in MULTIPLES of what he usually did at this, and it was never good to push your luck too far, anyway, so John decided it was time to fold 'em and walk away. The drunken idiots he'd been bankrupting were a lot of cheerful, happy-go-lucky good sports about it, and genuinely disappointed to see him go. They groaned in unison and offered to buy him another beer or two if he'd stay, but John was eager to return to his boys and check on them, eager to see their faces when he showed them how much he'd won. So he clapped the best losers he'd ever met on the back and heartily wished them all the best, explaining that he had kids to get back to. That information put them in an even BETTER mood, if possible, near every one of them yelling their slurred congratulations over top of each other: "Kids! You hearin' this? Johnny here's a daddy! Ain't kids a hoot?" "Kids? Whoa. I got one, too! They eat a lot..." "Gotta love kids, man. I got FOUR! And they's good ones. Bet they's done in bed, though. Wife gets 'em to bed..." "Mine's all grown up, gonna see 'em Thanksgiving. When's Thanksgiving?" "Aw, man. I ain't got none! Gots nieces, though. They're fun, make me want my own! Bet I will someday, too, my lady gets done with school. Have a whole bunch and spoil 'em rotten!" 

John might've laughed, because it was funny. Might've - had he not suddenly felt his throat start closing up. All these happy drunks going back home to their wives, their families that hadn't been ripped apart... He walked back out to his car, slammed the door, and closed his eyes a second. Opening them again, he stared at the ring he still wore, willing himself to pull it together. All these years later, and it still snuck up on him like that. Unannounced tsunami-waves of fresh grief. He didn't know if it would ever stop happening; didn't know if he WANTED it to... But then - almost like a switch had suddenly been flipped - John snapped out of it. He had two pieces of Mary waiting on him, their two boys to go check on. So he cranked the motor and sped that way.

Had John been in a more lighthearted mood when he arrived - no, nix that. It wouldn't have made any difference. Pulling up to the motel to see his boys out in a dark parking lot? With the room door wide open, swinging on it's hinges? That was MORE than enough to set him off, no matter WHAT kind of mood he'd been in! And he only got madder. They obviously didn't hear him drive up and slam the car door closed, because their tussle never so much as slowed, let alone stop! They were too busy yelling and scrabbling with each other to notice him walking up, not until he jerked them apart, a hand like a vise-grip on the back of each of their necks.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF THE ROOM?" Dean and Sam froze instantly, like characters on a screen when you hit PAUSE. John didn't give his bug-eyed sons a chance to answer, but just hauled them both back into the room, thrusting them through the door before slamming and locking it with enough force to shake walls three doors down. John lowered a dark, furious look over his sons. They were silent, still frozen, not quite certain whether or not they should risk breathing just yet. Because Dean had been right; their dad was PISSED. Sam began to realize just how much of a mistake he had made. When John spoke, his calm, quiet voice was a disturbing contrast to the raging fire in his eyes. "Dean. Report..."

Dean swallowed, looking at Sam. He licked his lips. There wasn't a thing he could possibly say to keep Sam out of some of the worst trouble he'd ever been in, up to that point. He breathed deeply, trying to think, but John wasn't in the mood to wait. "Dean, I said report!" Jerking his head up to look at his dad, Dean tripped over his tongue. "I, I had to go get him. I told him not to, but he ran out the door. I went to the bathroom, he left, I went to bring him back. I mean, I was trying to, then-then you had us..." Dean looked down at the floor, drowning in guilt. He was supposed to watch Sam, supposed to keep him safe, but he let him out there where anything could get him, couldn't even keep his little brother in the freaking motel room, no wonder Dad was mad-

John interrupted Dean's train of self-reproach by turning to the REAL guilty party, who nearly whimpered aloud under John's unsparing gaze. John didn't really NEED the report. It was all glaringly obvious even before he ran up to them. John was very experienced at taking in a scene, at noting the details and making sense of them quickly. He had seen right away that what might have looked like a fight was really Dean frantically trying to pull his brother back into the room, and Sam resisting with vigor. The snatches of dialogue John had caught on his way over to them had only validated his theory. So he KNEW which of his boys was in the wrong here, had a pretty good idea of what had happened. But it only seemed fitting to make him acknowledge it, first!

"Sam." He stared at his shaking youngster, his voice harder than it had been with Dean. "Report." Sam began to panic, "I... I... we. I don't know, Dad, it, I don't know..." "TELL ME WHY I FOUND YOU OUTSIDE!", John thundered. That sent Sam into uncensored hysterics. "I wanted to see the moon! The colorful part, before it was too late! I was gonna come right back, but Dean freaked out, I was gonna run right back in, and then you grabbed us! That's all that happened! 'Cause you left us in here, and I was just gonna go see it, myself!" And that was all John needed.

Between one heartbeat and the next, John had snatched Sam up, sat down, flipped the kid over his lap, and commenced administration of one hell of a spanking. "YOU. KNOW. BETTER! You are NEVER to step foot outside without us! ESPECIALLY IN THE DARK!" It was debatable whether Sam could even hear what John was saying over all of his own howling, but it didn't matter - John let his hand do the talking. He hadn't spanked either of the boys in years, aside from the occasional swat when they thought they could get away with cussing like sailors. He almost never needed to. They were generally good kids, so it seldom ever took more than a look to get them back in line. John tried to save the busting of butts as a last resort - but this? This was a point that needed serious underlining!

Because John could have... he could have LOST them. He had come home early, but what if he hadn't? What if he'd been just a few minutes later, too late to stop some addled freak from grabbing them, having his sick way with them? What if they'd been kidnapped? Mated to some cruel, abusive monster? John wouldn't even be able to rescue them, then! Once mated, the omega was tied, locked in, permanently BOUND to the alpha. Omegas seldom lived six months away from their alpha, even if they still seemed healthy enough after all the mistreatment. An omega had a better shot even with their abuser than they did on their own after mating, which was why hunters tried to take warped alphas out BEFORE they mated - because there was no saving the omega, after. The only time they ever dared gank a mated alpha was when the omega was already so bad off they weren't going to live long, anyway. If some alpha caught Sam and Dean's scent and stole them away, they'd be as good as dead even IF John ever found them again...

No. HELL no! Not his boys! He'd be as hard on them as he needed to be to make sure that didn't happen, to get that through his boys' thick heads. Oh, God, he could have lost them...

So John was going to make SURE Sam didn't think that was OK, was going to ensure that he regretted this little stunt! Sam thought a spanking hurt? That was only because he hadn't been RAPED, yet! He hadn't been been violated in a hundred unspeakable ways, hadn't been beaten black and blue and bloody by some lunatic on a rampage. John had seen enough omegas done that way, didn't want to see his son like that, too! So John didn't feel badly at all about spanking Sam - not if it taught the boy to obey him, to think, to stay safe!

When John let Sam go, the kid sprang over to the other bed and into his brother's arms. Dean didn't say anything, offered neither sympathy nor an 'I-told-you-so', but just held him as Sam hiccupped and sobbed all over him. Dean rubbed his nose all through Sam's hair, swaying ever-so-softly from side to side. John watched them silently a moment. His sweet boys. He could have lost them... John sighed. He was just tired, now. The shock, terror, and fury of the last few minutes had taken more out of him than work had all week. He propped his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He listened to Sam's crying slow down, and realized that he hadn't even taken his jacket off. He rubbed his eyes (wet? had he been crying, too?) and slowly got up to change into his sweats. Pulling the enormous wad of cash he'd won out of his pocket, he stared at it a moment, before throwing it in the bedstand drawer and slamming it shut with a snort. Damn, did he wish he'd brought a drink home...! 

John used the bathroom and brushed his teeth, before making his way over to the other bed, where Dean still held a sniffling Sam. Both his kids looked at him, Sam's expression unreadable. John sat down and sighed, before tapping Dean on the arm. "Go get ready for bed, son." Dean didn't hesitate, just slid out from beneath Sam and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam was left on his side, hugging his knees and looking sad and small. John sat down and pulled Sam to him, running a hand through the kid's hair. Sam buried his face in his dad's side, and John let a few minutes go by in silence, just rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam's neck. Dean came back and crawled under the covers. John pulled Sam's face up to look at him. "Stunt like that, you won't pull it again. You understand?" Sam nodded, hiding his eyes in John's shirt again. It was a particular spot where his dad's scent seemed stronger, he drank it in the way John would have drunk a beer just then - if he'd had one. John pet the boy's neck slowly. "And you know why, Sam. It's not safe." Sam didn't say anything, just curled up tighter, nuzzling his face deeper into his dad's side. John just sighed, and watched the way Sam was smelling him. He sometimes sniffed the boys back, but he seldom smelt much of anything. He often wondered what all he was missing out on that way, being a beta...

\-----------------------------

The next day was quiet. Probably would've been somewhat quiet, anyway, being a Sunday. No school, no work, even the library was closed. Other than their morning run, they spent the day inside, not even going out to eat. They had sandwich fixings, chips, a box of crackers, and juice. It would suffice. John figured they NEEDED the quiet, after the previous night. He brought all the weapons in, and they spent a few hours thoroughly cleaning and oiling them all, in no kind of hurry at all. They worked slowly, but it was fine. They had all day. When John finally pushed the table and chairs out of the way so they could work on fight moves the way they always did on weekends, he didn't fail to notice the look his boys gave each other. Sam's lack of enthusiasm was even more pronounced than usual, and Dean didn't seem overly excited, either. Play-fighting was weird and not fun, not so soon after their real struggle the night before. John said nothing, but he could read between the lines, and ended the lesson sooner than usual. They wound up all curled up together, watching some B-grade movie about a swamp monster and a couple that falls in love as the Army swoops in to take care of it. It was stupid, but watching it was really just a flimsy excuse for the boys to pile up together on John. Dean was fifteen, so he wouldn't just run and climb on his dad's leg, anymore. But he splayed out across the bed near where his dad sat as the movie started, and slowly inched closer and closer over the course of a few minutes until he just happened to 'discover' that his head was on his dad's lap. Sam, younger and with fewer hang-ups, just leaned against John's arm and draped his legs over Dean. John knew better than to say anything. It would only take one word to break the spell, so John just smiled and kept his mouth shut. 

Sam didn't say much all day. He certainly didn't say anything about the night before. Not that John expected him to. Dean was always sorry for everything, even things that weren't his fault, but John was pretty sure he could count on his fingers the number of times Sam had ever verbally apologied for anything, ever. But he didn't care. Their safety was the main thing. Just as long as the boy learnt his lesson and didn't try it again, John would be satisfied. After all, Dean hadn't said much all day, either. But as it drew closer to sunset, John caught Sam's eyes wandering repeatedly to the window. He knew what the kid was thinking about, but also knew that he felt badly enough about the night before that he wouldn't ask. Because Sam WAS sorry, even if he would never say so. Every time Sam glanced over at the door, he would look down a second, before scooting in closer to either John or Dean. Finally, John could only take just so much of it...

"Alright, boys! Get yourselves ready to go. On the double!" Both boys bounced up, confused. Scrambling to put his shoes on, Dean asked, "Supper?" John laughed a little. "Done HAD supper, Dean. But we might grab something on our way back. No more questions, let's go." They all filed out to the Impala, Sam being nothing like subtle about the way he was craning his neck, trying to see over the roof of the motel. John wasn't going to let anything ruin this, though. "Dean, let Sam have shotgun tonight. Need him to navigate for me." John didn't need a navigator, and if he had, it could've easily been done from the back. John just wanted Sam beside him and reading something so the kid wouldn't be tempted to look out the window! The boys really WERE confused then, but said, "Yes, sir" all the same. John handed Sam a city map and a flashlight. "Get me to Howard Park. Across town. And you look sharp at that map, don't let us get off track tonight. Got it?" "Yes, sir..." John smiled inwardly. Howard Park was where he had planned to take the boys to view the moon the previous night, before the whole "running off in the dark" debacle. The enormous field set away from streetlights was as perfect a place for astronomical observation as they would find without driving out into the countryside.

When they pulled up, got out of the car, and took a good look at the sky, they ALL gasped. A pulsating, glittery fog made a pronounced halo around the almost completely full moon. Even Dean was impressed. "Wow... Sam, man. You were right. That's worth seeing...." John looked over at Sam's awe-struck face full of wonder, and felt something similar.


	16. The Other One

They were moving on again, but this time Sam wasn't upset about it. Both his boys were excited about their next stop - Windom, Minnesota! Because John had another boy up there to go and check on, one several years younger. A third son, by the name of Adam Milligan. Just the kid's name put a smile on John's face. He glanced at Dean, whose head hung half out the window, and remembered...

*************************************

John had first had to wrap his head around the fact that he had another son, at all. The boy had come as a bit of a surprise, though John supposed he shouldn't have. After all, you fool around, children are just what tend to come of it - sometimes even WITH protection, since there's nothing 100% foolproof except abstinence or sterilization. And even sterilization has been known to fail! So John really shouldn't have been surprised.

John wasn't ashamed of little Adam, by any means, but the circumstances surrounding his conception weren't anything John was overly proud of. There had been a hunt gone sour, and John had wound up in the ER, being tended to by a nurse called Kate. Her shift had ended about the same time John was discharged. Why had he gone with her? Hell, he didn't know. Because he was having a bad day, and she was attentive and friendly? Because he was lonely, and she somewhat resembled his late wife? Because he was a man, and she was a willing woman? Any or all of the above. Whatever the reason he'd supplied himself for it, it happened, and a few months later, it was BOBBY that had passed along a message to call her!

John had listed Bobby as his emergency contact on the hospital paperwork, and bribing someone in records to dig that information out for her was the only way Kate knew of to locate him. All she'd said was her name and number, and that it was very, VERY important that John get back to her - just enough to drive Bobby wild! But she wouldn't tell Bobby anything, so he'd passed the message along. "Who's this Kate woman, John? And why the hell're you givin' my number out to random broads? What's she want, what's so damned important?" John didn't know, had no idea - he didn't immediately recognize her name. (He'd been trying to forget that whole incident, so her name was the first part to go!) He called her and was reminded, and told they had a little one on the way. 

He had been sitting on a bed in whatever motel room he'd been staying in, then, watching Sam and Dean playing with something at the table. When she said THAT, his mind just went blank for a moment. A kid. A kid? Another kid! He couldn't really afford another one, wouldn't always be able to be there for it, could die or go to prison and NEVER be there for it, but...

Still he was HAPPY! Thrilled! WHY was a sensible question, of course. Every rational thought told him this was terrible. He wasn't at all prepared for it, was barely able to really take care of his first two, but... A kid! If she hadn't called, he would never have known, but now that she HAD, John was determined to be the best father to this new child that he possibly could - given the situation. It might not be much, but he would do what he could!

Making certain that the boys were preoccupied, his talk with Kate went on, he asking most of the questions. Yes, she was sure it was his. She hadn't been with anyone else for almost a year when she realized she was pregnant. Yes, she had insurance and a good doctor and what she needed for now - she WAS a nurse! She was under the best care available to her. All answers John liked. But he held his breath a second before broaching the topic he MOST wanted to address. SHE had called HIM. Did that mean that she wanted him involved, or was she just looking for child support? Because John wanted to be involved. He didn't want to be just a check in the mail and maybe a birthday card to this kid. But John and Kate weren't married, so that would be her choice...

And yeah, she wanted him involved. Actually, from the way she said it, it almost sounded like she wanted him involved with HER, but John couldn't focus on that. A kid. HIS kid! He promised her right then and there that he would do everything he could for this child. He wanted to get to know the child, spend time with it. She readily agreed, and John just sat there a moment. He really needed to get off the phone, just THINK for a while. Finding his voice again, he promised her he'd call the next evening, that he'd call every week. Asked her to please let him know if she needed anything, that he would do what he could. They hung up, and John just stared.

Oh, the thoughts that ran through his head! Surely much like the thoughts that run through EVERY father's head when they get the news: excitement, fear, joy, anxiety, pride, bragging rights, uncertainty... He had to let someone know. Bobby. He had to call Bobby back, anyway - he'd wanted to know what the strange woman calling for John wanted. John's eyes shot to the two children with him, and he sent them into the bathroom with their shoes, telling them to wash them off in the tub instead of the sink, and to take their time about it, no rushing. The conversation with Bobby would have to be more specific on his end than the one with Kate, and he didn't want the boys overhearing before he had a chance to explain. Explaining to the boys? Yeah, he'd deal with that one later...

Bobby was irritated - or wanted to be. "Balls! Winchester, you're a hunter, or you're supposed to be! You go havin' kids in every state we send you to, it's gonna slow you down. You ain't gonna be worth a damn!" John was on the defensive, now. "ONE kid, Bobby. ONE slip in seven years' time. You been a monk since Karen?" John could hear a thud over the phone. "But I don't knock 'em up! Last thing I need! And 'sides, it AIN'T just one. You got three, now, John. And that's three more'n most hunters have. How the hell are you gonna do that?" John sighed. "I'll manage." He paused. "Thought a man's friends were supposed to say congratulations." Bobby clicked his tongue. "'Cause you're really glad of it. Ain't ya? Well, hell. Congratulations, then, ya idjit. Just hope this one turns out as fine as yer other two have."

His boys had come back out of the bathroom bearing clean shoes at the tail end of that, sopping wet. They paid no attention as he hung the phone up, grabbing dry shirts out of their bags. Dean waited 'til Sam wasn't looking to roll his wet one up, pop Sam's leg with it, and start World War Three. John settled himself against the headboard to watch the show. Boys. The new one, would it be a boy? He hoped so. John was sure he wouldn't have the faintest clue what to do with a girl...

He didn't say anything to the boys, not that night, or the next. Not for MONTHS, not until about a month before Kate was due. John had alerted others in the hunting community that he would only take cases in THAT state for a few weeks - just in case she went into labor early, because he meant to be there to see his new offspring as soon as possible. They had been rolling north along I-29 when John broke the news to them. He had been trying to console an upset-about-moving-again Sam with a promise that they would stay in Minnesota for about a month, when Dean innocently asked how come. It was a completely innocuous question, one the boys ALWAYS asked whenever they stayed someplace for more than a couple weeks. The answer usually had something to do with keeping an alpha under surveillance for a while, or just waiting on an alpha to be released from either jail or the hospital before doing the job. At seven, those answers didn't mean too much to Sam, but Dean at eleven understood it - mostly. Only John couldn't give them an answer like that this time. He DID have one alpha to be near, just in case the call was made, but that really wasn't the main reason. There were other hunters that had been closer that could have taken the case - a case that probably WOULDN'T end in a hunt. No, John was headed to Minnesota for personal reasons. But he hadn't told his boys, yet.

John squeezed the steering wheel. Dithered. Was probably more anxious to avoid answering a question than his boys had ever been! But he really needed to tell them. They would find out soon enough, anyway, why hide it any longer? "Gonna be something special happening pretty soon. We're gonna... we're gonna meet some new family." Well. THAT got their attention. Sam and Dean were staring, confused. "Cousins?", Sam asked. The boys knew they HAD cousins, but had never yet met them. John shook his head, spoke so low it was little more than a whisper. "No. Not cousins." Dean looked a little freaked. "NEW family? Like... what does NEW mean? Haven't they been family the whole time? They're not real cousins?" Who knew what weird ideas were brewing in Dean's head...

John swallowed, and just SAID it. "A sibling. A brother or sister, little brother or sister. They're... they're on the way. Gonna be born. Here in a couple weeks or so. We're gonna go see 'em." There was silence for only a second, then Dean exploded. "WHAT? How? 'Cause that's not even a funny joke, Dad!" Sam was just confused. "Who's little brother or sister is it? Pastor Jim's?" The kid just associated the word 'Minnesota' with Jim. John gripped the steering wheel. "Gonna be YOU TWO'S little brother or sister. Half-brother or sister. HOW is not important, Dean." Sam gasped in astonishment - "Really?" Dean looked stricken. "But..." He couldn't think of how to ask the question. John took a deep breath. "You're eleven, Dean. Sam in the backseat? Is seven. So I'm not going to answer 'how' or 'why' questions right now. Just take my word for it. You've got a sibling coming soon. We're going up there to see 'em." Dean just stared. Well, let the kid stare. Gave John time to pay attention to little Sam, who was bubbling over in the backseat. "OURS? Whoa! Dad, 'member when I was in first grade in Alabama? Jordan got a little sister born! They went to the hospital to get it. Are we going to a hospital? Are we gonna take it with us? Can we keep it?" John wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "We'll go the hospital when it's time. Probably be a few weeks, though." Sam looked ecstatic. "And then we get to keep it?" John wilted on the inside. "They'll have to stay with their mom, Sam. But we're gonna visit a lot, be ALMOST like keeping it." Dean stared at his dad harder than ever. Sam was confused. "Who's its mom?" Dean stared yet harder. John shifted in his seat, staring straight out the windshield. "Miss Milligan. You'll meet her. And we're ALL gonna be nice when we do." Side-eyes at Dean, who looked betrayed. Sam gave them no relief, though, no chance to stop and breathe. "So if it's gonna be our little brother or sister, are you gonna be it's dad, too?" Dean was a statue with it's face pointed straight at John. John's jaw twitched. "Yeah, Sam. I'm their dad, too." The damn questions just kept coming. "If you're gonna be its dad, then how come it won't go with us? WE go with you!" More Dean-stare. John's nerves were fraying. "Sam. The baby has to stay with its mom. That's... that's what's best. That's what's gonna happen. So we're gonna stop talking about it for a while, and just THINK about it. OK?" Sam closed his mouth, from where he'd almost been ready to ask another question. "OK, Dad." They drove on, silence except for the low hum of the radio. Dean's stare finally relaxed. He looked out the window.

It was a long drive, for John and Dean. Little Sam in the back paid the tension no mind. They swung through a drive-thru, before finding a motel for the night. Dean hadn't been in his usual good mood that evening, and John was just distracted, so Sam had gone to sleep mumbling something about all the, "...boring, no-fun grouchers..." John called Kate, left her a message that they were in town and the room's telephone number, and started to try to sleep, himself. But a couple hours later he awoke, feeling eyes on him. He turned to catch Dean staring again. "Hey, Dad?" It was a shaky whisper. "What you need, son?" "Do you..." The kid seemed to have trouble getting it out. "Do you still love Mom?"

Talk about a punch to the gut. John closed his eyes a second. When he opened them again, Dean was still staring. He waved the boy over, was landed on by ninety-odd pounds of Dean. He waited a moment, stroked the boy's neck. "Your mom gave me you and Sam. Always love her, for that alone." When Dean spoke again, his voice sounded frail, nothing like the usual outgoing eleven-year old. "Then what'd ya want that Miss Milligan for?" Jealous? On his mom's behalf. John sighed and hugged Dean closer. A thought slowly dawned on him. He patted the boy's back. "Stay right here, Dean..." He got up, rummaged through his duffle bag, came back and pushed something into Dean's hand. A streetlight outside the window let in just enough light to see what it was. 

John spoke softly. "The ring I wear, Dean? Wedding band. This was your mother's." Dean turned it slowly, feeling it carefully. "I'm not a married man anymore, Dean. But I kept it. Seven years now I've kept it." A pause. "Sometimes you hold on to things, to remember. But I've got you and Sam, and you two're worth a lot more than that little piece of silver." John swallowed. "If you need something to hold on to, you take it. It's yours." Dean stared at his Dad a moment, before looking down at it again. Dean slipped it on his finger. It was a bit too big, of course, but not so big that there was any real danger of it falling off and being lost. Dean closed his eyes and spun it around his knuckle a couple times. He fell asleep curled on John's belly, that night...

The next three and a half weeks were torture on John. He couldn't think straight, stayed on pins and needles. He'd found work at a transmission/radiator place, but struggled to stay focused. He met up with Kate one day at the sandwich shop across from his job during his lunch break one day. Some things needed to be discussed without Sam and Dean right there. It was completely surreal watching her walk in, so heavy with child it was a wonder she could stay upright. Knowing it was HIS child threatening to make her lose her balance. John jumped up to catch her arm and guide her over to the corner table he'd chosen. "Thank you", she murmured. They sat and looked each other over a moment. They hadn't seen each other since... Well, since the one and only other time they'd met, and he'd knocked her up. John coughed into his fist. "You want something to eat? Should probably eat. Anything you like. It's on me." John had voluntarily sent her $50 a month ever since he'd found out, even though she worked a full-time job making twice what he ever did. Still. His kid, he was gonna provide for it - what little he could. He wanted to see her eat, though. Itched to feed his kid. What did pregnant women eat? He remembered Mary wanting a lot of spicy stuff... "Um, maybe just some tea? I haven't been able to hold much down, lately." Of course, sensitive stomachs. John remembered that. He waved a waitress over and placed his order, plus an extra-large sweet tea for the lady. There was silence for a minute, but John couldn't let it go on too long. He had to get back to work across the street in 30. "So. Two weeks." She nodded, one hand on her swollen abdomen. John looked away. "I want to see 'em. My, my boys want to see 'em." Well, Sam did, anyway; Dean still seemed unsure. He had already told her about his other two. Just to give his hands something to do, he pulled a photo out of his wallet and pushed it over to her, of the three of them on Jim's porch. 

"These are your boys? Oh, the younger one looks just like you! You all look happy." Was she really interested, or was she just trying to be friendly? John neither knew, nor cared. He pulled his picture back. "You said you wanted me involved. But while we're sitting here without my other two under foot, tell me exactly what you meant by that. We need to be on the same page. I need to know." The waitress came back with the food and drinks. Kate played with her straw. "How involved do you WANT to be? Because I'm fine with raising the baby on my own. It seems only right to let you be a part of it's life, but I'm not pushing for anything." She took a breath. "Honestly, you're already doing more than I expected. A lot of men would ignore it, stay away until they were maybe FORCED to do something. My co-workers keep telling me how glad I should be that you're being so responsible about it." John just ate his sandwich, waiting for her to answer the question, already. He wasn't interested in her co-workers' praise. "I want you to be as involved as you want to be. I'm open to just about anything except giving you custody."

John took a moment. Swallowed the last of his sandwich, watching her closely. He wanted to be careful how he worded this. "I'll keep sending you money each month, that won't stop. I move a lot, with my work. But if you'll let me, I'll try to be up here every few months, spend a little time with the kid." She gave him an odd look. "I thought you were a mechanic?" John wasn't going there. "I am, among other things. (change the subject, quick!) I'll keep calling every week. I'll make sure you have my number, wherever I'm at, so you can get hold of me if the kid needs anything." He paused. "Is that OK?" She nodded, and added, "I, um, I want them to have my last name. I don't have any other family. I want them to be a Milligan." John hadn't even thought of that. But that was probably for the best, actually. If he ever pissed anyone off, killing their crazy alpha relative or something, then at least ONE of his boys would be harder to connect to him if someone wanted revenge. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Got two Winchesters, already. That'll be fine." Actually, now that he thought on it? It really WASN'T fine. His kid really OUGHT to bear his name. Letting it go wasn't a favor to Kate, it just probably WAS safer for the kid. "You don't even need to put me on the birth certificate, if you don't want." She nodded, he nodded. She promised to call when she went into labor, John would be at the hospital after enough time had gone by. He stood up, offered a hand to help HER up. He paid the bill, walked her out to her car. He pointed across the street. "Wilcox Transmissions and Radiators. That's where I'm working for now. Call there if you need me during the day." She nodded, and after a second moved as though to hug him, but John pulled away first. "Gotta get back to work. You have a good day." 

It was in the middle of the day about a week and a half later, a few days before the due date, when someone in the office hollered at him. "Winchester! Phone!" John dropped his tools and bolted over, snatching it out of the poor office worker's hand. "Yes?!" It was Kate. "Go-going to the hospital now. My friend, my friend is coming for me." John swallowed. "Good. Good, I'll be there when I get off." He hung up and turned around to face his boss that was staring with unabashed curiosity. An explanation was needed. "Kid coming. She's going into labor now." The whole shop went wild at that! "John, you didn't tell us your wife was expecting! Congratulations!" "Yeah, what are you still standing here, for? Get over there!" Hoots, hollers, slaps on the back. John coughed. "Isn't my wife. Would like to finish my shift, go to the hospital after." Stuff got quiet. One young moron actually said aloud, "You didn't strike me as the love-child-with-a-mistress type. Is this all on the down-low? We can keep secrets..." John just ignored that, picked his tools back up off the floor, and went back to work.

Sam and Dean got off the bus and waited in the office until their dad got off at 4:00. John hugged them to him fiercely. Dean wanted to know why everyone in the shop had been looking at them funny, but John interrupted. "The baby. Coming. Probably done came. Get your stuff, we're eating supper early, 'fore we head over there." Sam jumped. "We're gonna go see it now?!" John nodded. "Yeah. Soon as we eat." He was in a hurry now, too. "Sandwich place across the street OK?" Sam and Dean both nodded, their dad's tense emotion somewhat catching. They darted over, eating quickly. It was an almost 20-minute car ride to the hospital. Sam spent it bouncing up and down, wondering what the baby would look like, would it be a boy or a girl, would it like them? Dean spent it just twirling the ring around his finger. Once there, John actually paused. He clutched both boys' hands, and for once Dean didn't even try to remind him that he was "too big" for that. John asked at information where the maternity and birthing unit was. He let Sam push the buttons on the elevator. Another desk, he asked for Kate Milligan. A nurse went to ask Kate if she wanted visitors, then came back and led them down the hall, and into a room.

John Winchester was no coward. He was no wuss, no chicken. He was a deadly assassin. He had been to WAR. But one look at the disheveled woman on the bed holding a tiny squirming bundle wrapped in blue was all it took to steal his breath, make his legs want to give way. The nurse announced them, reminded them that visiting hours would be over at 7:00, and left. John stayed where he was, clinging to his wide-eyed older two. Sam and Dean just stared. 

It was Kate's friend that finally called them over. "You're John? The daddy? Kate, that's the daddy, right?" Kate looked up and nodded, eyes falling back immediately. The Winchesters were obviously of no consequence - all she had eyes for was her new baby. Her friend got excited. "Come over here and see him! You and Kate did such a good job, he is SUCH a precious little cutie!!!" John walked over, letting go of Sam and Dean's hands halfway there, heart in his throat. He stared down at the pink, wrinkly little human in the little white-and-blue striped hat, and breathed out, "A boy." A boy. Another son. He stared a moment, drinking the sight in, noting all the slight differences between this one and the way his others had looked at only a few hours old. John could barely get his voice to work. "May I?" Kate's head shot up. She looked unsure a moment, before nodding her consent. It was only with the utmost of reluctance that she handed him over.

John didn't cry, but his eyes may have glimmered just a little as he tucked the tiny thing into his chest, one hand more than sufficient to cover most of the little body, but using two, all the same. It was the same moment on replay, all over again. This had been Dean. This had been Sam. The same burst of paternal feeling overwhelmed him all over again. Just a few minutes before, he had been committed to caring for an idea, a concept. Now he was dedicating a portion of his love to- to who? Who was this?

"What did you name him?", he whispered, afraid to wake his now-sleeping son. Kate leaned on her friend, who sat beside her pillow. "Adam." Adam. John smiled. Dean, Samuel, and now Adam. Yes, Adam would do nicely... He stood there what felt like ages, just watching the miniature chest rise and fall. Adam. His boy, Adam. He didn't hear Kate's friend commenting on how enraptured both of the baby's parents were with him, didn't notice the nurse coming in again to take Kate's vitals. However, he DID hear Dean responding "Yes, ma'am" to the nurse when she asked if they were Adam's big brothers. Ah, yes. Time for introductions.

John turned to Kate, cleared his throat. "Kate, these are my other boys." He jerked his head to call them closer, nodding down at them. "Dean, and Sam." Dean looked Kate over warily, but Sam couldn't hardly take his eyes off of Adam. Kate smiled a tired smile. "Hello, boys. It's nice to meet you." Dean frowned and twisted his ring, looked as though he was thinking that over. Sam gawked up at her. "You're his mom?" Kate nodded. John nudged them with his foot, "Polite, boys." Two mouths immediately parroted, "Hi, Miss Milligan". Kate's friend nearly swooned. "OH, my goodness. If Adam turns out as cute as those, you are DOOMED, Kate!"

John just looked down at his newest, cradled him closer. He rocked his miniscule new son back and forth ever so gently. His thoughts weren't even thoughts, just... He sighed softly, smiling, looked down at Sam who stared with obviously BURNING interest. His eyes flicked back to Kate. "Kate, may my boys...?" Kate's face screwed up slightly in concern, and she looked almost ready to say no, but the nurse that hadn't left yet took over, and Kate let her. "Well, sure! Just need them to wash their hands, first." Sam RAN to the sink, Dean followed behind more slowly after John bumped him with his elbow. When they came back, the nurse was pulling a large vinyl-covered armchair close beside the bed. "Here, one of you have a seat." In spite of Sam's eagerness, something told John to bump DEAN forward. John's eldest sat down, looking terrified. The nurse smiled broadly as she lifted Adam from John's arms. "OK, have you ever held a baby before?" Dean shook his head no, then realized that wasn't true and nodded yes. It had been years, and he was nervous! "No? Yes? Look, it's OK. Just be super careful, hold him tight but don't squeeze, and keep one hand right here behind his head. His neck isn't strong enough to hold his head up, yet, and we don't want to let it fall. OK?" Dean nodded, his face like a deer in headlights as she laid little Adam in his arms. But it only took a moment for Dean to relax into it, with vague memories of holding Sam this way. Dean stared into the big eyes of the tiny face that was now awake, but not yet crying. Sam had dropped to his knees in front of them as soon as Adam was handed off, and was leaning forward eagerly, tracing over tiny fingers. "He's so little..."

Dean was fighting some instinct. He didn't know if it was OK or not, wasn't sure if he was supposed to. But he WANTED to. Though he wasn't yet presented, a very basic impulse was pulling at him. He looked first to his dad, then Miss Milligan, then Sam. Sam, though, was already giving in to the impulse, already sniffing eagerly, and no one was saying anything to him. So Dean pulled baby Adam up higher and pushed his nose behind the little ear, breathing in deeply. Neither Kate nor her friend had noticed Sam sniffing from a few inches away, but Dean's direct snuffling of Adam's neck raised hackles. "What is he DOING? John, don't let him do that!" John just sighed. Why hadn't he seen this coming? They'd always been told to ask! "Boys..." Neither Dean nor Sam heard the outburst - they were too preoccupied with the new attachment they were forming!

Both boys grew wider-eyed than ever as Adam's scent washed over them and something clicked in their heads. All babies smelled nice to omegas, whose every speck of DNA was specifically designed and engineered with baby-making in mind. But this baby, Adam, didn't just smell nice. He didn't just smell like happiness and instinct-to-care. This baby smelled like one of them! This was the familiar and comforting smell of FAMILY!

The nurse was just about to reach over and take Adam back to return him to Kate, when Dean jerked his head up. "Dad! He IS our brother! Smell him!" Sam piped up, "Yeah, he smells just like you and Dean! And kinda like Miss Milligan. But he smells a LOT like Dean!" Kate was totally freaked out, her friend confused beyond all telling. "John, what are they talking about? Maybe you need to take them out! Give me my baby!" Dean had to stop himself from shielding Adam from the nurse that lifted him up. John sighed deeply, apologizing quickly. "Kate, I didn't tell you, didn't think I'd need to, was too busy thinking of everything else. Sam and Dean, they're omegas. I'm sorry I didn't think to say anything ahead of time, but you're a nurse, Kate. You know the scenting is normal for them, right? I can promise they're not just being bizarre to upset you. This is just what my boys do." Kate stared suspiciously, the other nurse stalking over to peer at their eyes. "They're too young to present! How would you know if they're going to be omegas, or not? And we're expected to believe you have TWO male omegas?" John rubbed his eyes as his older boys shrunk behind him. "Their mother was an omega, and they can tell what their children are. Even if she hadn't smelled it, I've lived with them their whole lives. I can SEE it. If any two were going to be omegas, it'd be my two." Kate's friend had decided that that was more than enough weirdness for her and left; Kate just hugged Adam to her and glared. John sighed. "They ARE omegas, and I'll grant that the sniffing is... but they meant no harm. Trust me, please. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be relevant, didn't stop to think how they'd respond to a baby. I'm so used to watching my boys sniffing everything that I forget that that's not what most children do. But boys?" Dean and Sam looked up nervously. "You have to ASK. We've been over this. You can't sniff people or their things without ASKING. You owe Miss Milligan an apology." Dean stared down at his shoes. "Sorry, Miss Milligan. We didn't mean to scare you. We'll - we'll ask next time." Sam peered around his dad's leg. "Yeah. Sorry. We just wanted to smell him. He smells really nice. You smell kinda sorta nice, too. I bet that's why you have a nice-smelling baby!" 

Kate had calmed down some once Adam was in her arms again, and after hearing John's explanation and the boys' sincere-sounding apologies (and little Sam's attempt at flattery!). But she was still a smidge weirded-out by it. "O-OK. Apology accepted." Sam smiled, certain that everything was just fine, now. Dean just shuffled closer to John, who decided that it was time to go. "We'll get out of your hair..." He paused. "Know they'll probably let you go in the morning. It's asking a lot after the chaos we just caused, but... I hope you wouldn't mind if we came by tomorrow. Maybe early, before I have to drop the boys in school? We'll be leaving town tomorrow evening." Kate sat there a moment. She hadn't totally quite gotten over the shock of watching a strange eleven-year-old SNIFFING her newborn son. She had no idea what to think. "I guess so. Sure." John nodded. "Alright. Tomorrow morning." He stepped closer, brushed a thumb over the side of Adam's face. He bent and placed the gentlest of quick kisses on the tiny forehead, then looked at Kate. "I..." John shook his head. "But thank you." He turned and led Sam and Dean out.

All the boys had been able to talk about all that evening was Adam. How FAMILY-like he smelled, how little and wrinkly he was, how cool it was to have a new brother, all the stuff they would teach him! It got late, and John sent them to bed. He let them whisper all they pleased, so long as they didn't get up, and made calls to Bobby and Jim, bragging about the new little Winchester named Adam Milligan. The next morning was a very different visit. They showed up bright and early, even before Kate's breakfast tray had arrived. Dean was just as eager as Sam, that time, but they were both extra-cautious to stay calm and quiet, John having warned them not to upset her again, and to ask before they did ANYTHING. Kate looked even more hesitant about letting them hold Adam than she had been the day before, but Sam's pleading beg-face was scarcely to be denied. Sam marveled that HE was a big brother now, too! He determined that he'd be just as good a big brother as Dean was - he had watched Dean for seven years, and could figure out just how to do it! Him telling Adam that brought HUGE smiles to the faces of John, Kate, and the two nurses watching. They couldn't stay long, though, only about 30 minutes. Finally John, himself, picked Adam up. He ran a finger along the little nose, stuck another finger in Adam's fist. His heart clenched, and for just a moment he briefly ALMOST considered giving up hunting to stay in Windom as a mechanic, just so he could watch all three boys grow up together. But then he glanced at Kate. She wasn't Mary. He hadn't been able to have another child with Mary, because some mentally-ill pervert took her from him. And other alphas would take OTHER omegas from their families, could even take Dean or Sam, if hunters like him didn't take THEM out, first. So John just kissed Adam, handed him back to his mother, and walked Sam and Dean out.


	17. Water Guns and Hints

But that was then. Now they were headed back up to Windom for Adam's 4th birthday. Sam was so excited about it that he had packed his stuff and hopped into the car for the move without even the first complaint! He and Dean had both come to love little Adam something fierce, and John got them all up there to see him just as often as he reasonably could, having put first dibs on any cases popping up in or around Minnesota. That usually got them up there three or four times a year, but even if no cases ever turned up in the northern Midwest, John was always determined be up there for the kid's birthday. Showing up once a year was surely the least he could do! And Sam and Dean were more anxious to see Adam for THIS birthday than any before. This year they came bearing a real present, one they had picked out and paid for, all themselves! A present with a story behind it...

************

Their visits with Adam when he was just a baby had mostly consisted of just playing with him there at Kate's house, and in Kate's yard. As he'd gotten older, Kate had slowly agreed to let John start taking him out for a few hours at a time - to a nearby park, to an ice-cream shop. But the visit before last, John had finally talked Kate into letting him have the boy for a whole weekend, Friday through Sunday! Kate had fretted, reminding John that Adam did so much better when he was kept on a strict schedule for eating and sleeping, but John was used to dealing with kids and routines. He just asked for the details, made sure Adam's favorite little blanket was packed, and told her that he could handle it, and that she'd have their baby back Sunday evening. John had all but walked on the clouds, happier than he had any right to be! Three whole days, with all three of his boys! Well, it should have been two and a half days, since Sam and Dean were supposed to be in school that Friday. But little Adam had been so confused, looking around for his brothers, (after his inital joy and excitement at John coming through the door and scooping him up!) that John decided on the spot to just say 'hell with it', and turned straight back to the schools to pick them up early. Adam's bright-eyed, electric SQUEALS when Sam and Dean walked up had endeared him to the hearts of the office ladies, forever. And what a day they made of it! Like a holiday! Playground, picnic, duck-pond, even half a candy bar! John suspected that Kate wouldn't have liked that part, but hey, he was the boy's parent, too. Chocolate on special occasions wouldn't kill a kid - even if it WAS a lot for a little guy. Why not? It was more of a treat for JOHN, than for Adam. He just liked the amazed look on the kid's face when he realized that all that yumminess was all just for him...!

But fun as it was, the day couldn't be ALL about Adam. It was Friday, and Sam and Dean needed to get target practice in. John couldn't let them get out of training just because they had Adam. It was too important, and one of THEIR routines. John had thought on it, and thought on it, and thought on it, but he didn't see any way around it. They would just have to take Adam with them. Besides, Adam was a Winchester in blood, even if not in name. Even though John was certain that Adam would be a beta, he would eventually want to make sure the boy learned at least the most basic rudiments of self-defense. An introduction to guns would happen some day, so why not THAT day? 

John had envisioned driving out to the woods, setting Sam and Dean up to take about 20 quick shots each with pistol and rifle, and then getting out of the way with Adam to watch, maybe play with sticks or something until the older boys were done. Then they could go on with their day! It was a good plan, but... something about the best laid ones of mice and men? It didn't quite work out that way.

Because Adam was more than casually interested in what was going on. He had jumped and been a little scared at the first couple shots, but after seeing that no one else was afraid, and that no one was getting hurt, Adam made his feelings plain. "ME, TOO!" He tried to wriggle out of John's arms, anxious to join the fun. "I wan do dat!" John was pretty sure Adam wasn't nearly so interested in the actual guns, as he was in just doing whatever Sam and Dean were doing. But what Sam and Dean were doing was shooting, which was definitely not an activity for a toddling preschooler. So John tried to just hold him and talk about what they saw. But Adam saw nothing to talk about - just something to DO! "I wan do it! Me, too! I peas do dat, too!" Attempts at distraction, which normally worked like a charm on the agreeable little three-year-old, were to no avail. The repetitive booming of firearms kept drawing his attention back to the ONE thing John wasn't going to let him do. Poor little Adam grew desperate, and bewildered. He didn't at all understand why his dad (usually such a fun guy!) wouldn't let him go to Sam and Dean and do what they were doing! "Dat, peas? I can do it, peas! Peas Adam do it? Peas?" The heartbroken begging was enough to make Sam and Dean lower their weapons and turn to look at their dad, who was cuddling a sad and fidgety little Adam to his chest, reassuring him that it would be all done soon, and then they would go do something else fun. "Den we do dat?" "We'll do something, sport." "Wan do dat! Dean and Sam and Adam do dat!" John sighed. "You can do that when you're bigger, Adam. When you're big like Sam and Dean. Not safe while you're still little." Adam looked up with serious eyes. "Adam's big. I can do dat. Was wittle yesserday, but Adam's big. See?" Adam then proceeded to show off just how big he was, stretching his neck and puffing his cheeks and chest out in the wackiest possible imitation of a constipated pufferfish. John bit his lip, while Sam and Dean lost it. Adam couldn't tell what was so funny, but all the laughter was enough to distract him a moment, and make him feel like everything was OK, again. At least UNTIL John waved Sam around to take another shot, and...

BOOM! "DAT! Wan do dat! Adam do dat, too! Peas? I do it!" It really wasn't a full-on tantrum. At least the kid said please! Adam was such a sweet, happy little thing that it would be hard to convince John that Adam even COULD throw a Sam-style fit. Heaven knew that little Sam had thrown some atomic-level ones, at that age! But Adam wasn't quite the little Hell-spawn that Sam had been, at times. He just wiggled and squirmed, pointed, and begged his heart out, until his bottom lip started to wobble, and he looked almost ready to cry. "Peas? Peas I do dat? I wan do it! Me, too! Adam can do it! Peas? Peas? Adam can do it, Adam do it, too, OK? Peas?" John sighed. "NO, Adam. You can't do that. But we'll do something else in a few minutes, OK?" Apparently it was NOT okay, because Adam's tears finally broke through, and he threw himself into John's chest, sobbing. Dean looked on the verge of coming unwound, himself. "Dad, Dad he's crying. He's crying for real! What do we do, Dad?" John just sighed. He wished he knew! He just wanted them to hurry it up and get done, already. They could skip the knives, replace it with throwing a ball with Adam. Or something!

It was Sam that wound up rescuing the situation. John had been so busy trying to soothe Adam that he hadn't thought of it, but Sam suddenly remembered the solution when HE had been little. "Dad! The water guns!" OH. Did John ever feel stupid, then. Of course, water guns! When tiny Sam had needed entertainment while HIS big brother practiced, John had just filled him up a couple small water guns to play with. They had come packaged together as a pair, cost him only a dollar, and had kept both of Sam's hands occupied while he was teaching Dean to shoot the real deal. Why hadn't he remembered that? Dean got animated. "Oh, yeah! And I think we still got 'em back there, too!" He and Sam raced to the car's trunk, digging wildly. John looked down at Adam, whose crying had stopped with all the excitement. "How 'bout that, Adam? What if we had a tiny one, just for little guys like you?" Adam nodded, his upset from just moments before forgotten. "Yeah! Adam do it!" John grinned and tugged on Adam's nose. "The answer is 'Yes, sir'!" Adam giggled. "Yes, stir!" Close enough!

Dean crowed in triumph. "Found 'em!" In his fist were two little plastic water guns, pulled from an old sack full of things they had just never bothered to get rid of. They were tiny, the two TOGETHER probably not holding half a cup of water, but even years later they still had the plugs attached, and would both still shoot. (Growing up with so little, Sam and Dean had learned early on to take care of what few things they DID have.) Dean walked over, just about to hand them to Adam, when John stopped him. "Wait, Dean. Give 'em to me, first." They were only children's toys, but John was still going to push the safety message through before letting Adam have them. There were too many REAL guns around to let Adam think he was now allowed to just grab one.

"Adam. Look at me." John tried to lower his voice just enough to let Adam know that this was serious, but not enough to scare the kid into crying again. That he had succeeded was evidenced by the wide-eyed, attentive stare Adam turned up to him. "Do you see these?" Adam looked and nodded. "Do you want to use them?" Adam nodded even harder. "These are WATER guns. WATER guns, Adam. They're different from Sam and Dean's guns. Can you see how they're different?" Adam nodded. "How're they different, Adam?" "Wittle an' red an' blue." John nodded in all seriousness. "That's right. Little and red and blue. But Sam and Dean's guns are big and black and gray. Different. See?" Sam and Dean held their guns up for comparison. Adam nodded. It was slow and redundant, but that was just how one had to be with preschoolers. Anything not said clearly, firmly, and repetitively would be forgotten. John asked an obvious question, just to be sure he still had Adam's attention. "You still wanna use these? Even though they're different?" Adam nodded eagerly. John nodded, too. "OK, then. I'll let you use them - IF you can promise me something. Can you promise me something, Adam?" Adam nodded. "I can pomis!" John steadied his voice, and looked Adam in the eye - serious, but not scary. "If I let you use these, I need you to promise me that you will only touch the water guns. Only these little red and blue ones, Adam. NOT Sam and Dean's big ones. Can you promise me that?" Adam was bouncing up and down, nodding with zest. "I pomis dat!" But John needed to hear it. "Have to tell me WHAT you promise, Adam. What do you promise?" Adam was wiggling with impatience. "Wittle guns!" Hmm. John needed better than that. "Yes, they ARE little. But what do you promise about little guns, Adam?" Adam fidgeted, suddenly looking unsure. "I can touch dat?" John smiled. "That's right. You can touch THESE guns. You can only touch THESE guns, 'cause these are little water guns just for you. But no touching Sam and Dean's guns. If you can promise that, tell me what the promise is." Adam nodded. "Pomis I touch dat. Not Sam and Dean's." John smiled. "That's right, only these. NO touching Sam and Dean's guns. Just these." And with that, John finally gave them to him, and Adam went into raptures. Like, WHOA. Little guns for him!

John waved at Sam and Dean to finish. Adam pointed one of the water guns that way, too, then turned back to John, confused. "Don't work?" John laughed. "Gotta put some water in there first, sport." He walked back to the Impala and fished out a half-empty bottle of water. "Your guns are different from Sam and Dean's. Their guns have bullets in them, but yours need water. Your guns won't make noise like theirs, but we can make yours squirt. You wanna make 'em squirt?" Adam was about to burst with excitement. "Yeah!" John smiled. "You mean 'Yes, sir'?" "Yes, stir!" Adam wasn't really sure if that was what he meant or not, but he had heard Sam and Dean say it enough that he had almost started to figure out that "Yes, stir!" made Dad happy, and Adam liked happy...!

John filled them up and showed Adam how to pull the trigger. Adam's mind was blown when he saw the line of water spurt out the little hole in the front - that was just TOO fun! He had figured out that whatever came out of the guns was supposed to go at the trees, so he emptied his little water pistols on a large bush next to him. The tiny tanks would each only hold about 2.5 ounces, so John patiently refilled them both about six times, while Sam and Dean finished putting a hundred holes in the trees. Adam squirted away and had the time of his life, until the booming stopped and his brothers walked up. "Dean! Sam! I squirt it!" He demonstrated his new skill, to Sam and Dean's high praise. "Wow, Adam! That's some of the best squirtin' I've ever seen!" "Good job, buddy! Look at you! You squirt with the BEST!" 

John just ate it all up a moment, before asking, "Well, Adam? Ready to go do something else?" Adam wiggled his whole body in his eagerness. "Yeah, stir!" - a response that amused all present. (See? That was how Adam KNEW it was a phrase worth repeating - it made everybody smile so big!) "Alright, then. Let's pack up." While Sam and Dean were busy putting the REAL guns back, John walked Adam through the completely-unnecessary but fun and semi-educational training exercise of pulling the stoppers out of the back of the guns and wiping them off with a paper napkin, before dropping them back into the ancient grocery-store sack of randomness that they'd come from. "Always gotta clean your guns and put them away, make sure they're ready for next time." Adam nodded, thoroughly impressed with the gravity of the task. Dad made it sound important...

****************************

Yes, the water guns had been a BIG hit, both then and the visit after. So for Adam's birthday, Sam and Dean pooled their nickels and dimes to buy Adam a BETTER one - a bigger one that would hold more water and wouldn't need to be refilled as often, but not so big that it would be too heavy for his little hand. They had looked at every water shooter in every store they'd stepped foot into for weeks, before the perfect water gun was found in a dollar store in Crestview, FL. It was translucent lime green, with a light blue zigzag and yellow trigger. They agreed that the red-and-white one on the hanger beside it was too pale, too almost pink. And it had no zigzag. But the green one? Perfect. Would hold almost seven ounces! They even tested the trigger through the wrapper, just to be sure it wouldn't be too hard for a little guy to squeeze, nor too loose. But it met their specifications - it was just the thing! They stood in line behind their dad, who was in there after toothpaste, deodorant, batteries, and yes, more pads. (Dean busied himself trying to play casual and aloof. Surely no one would guess those were for him. Would they??) Once John had his bag and receipt, Sam and Dean plopped down the toy and their handful of loose change, confident they were cinching their spot in the runnings for Best Big Brothers, EVER. Once back in the room, Dean was happy to just tape newspaper around it, but could tell that Sam was just trying to make a chore out of it by insisting it needed a bow. "We don't HAVE bows, Sam! And nobody's going back to the store for that, anyway. 'Sides, he's turning four. You think he's even gonna care?" But Sam just ignored him, and cut long, thin strips of newspaper to tie carefully around it. "Yeah, OK, so maybe that DOES look nicer. All artsy-fartsy, and crap. Bet Miss Milligan'll love it." Dean got bitch-faced for that.

The little gift rode to Minnesota in Sam's duffel bag, which he kept right beside him, the whole trip. John had begun to smirk at the sheer number of times he'd heard a zipper being pulled. "Is it still in there?" Sam hummed. "Just checking to make sure the bow's not being smashed." Dean laughed...

They arrived in Windom after midnight. After eight hours of almost no sleep, (too excited) they were up and running, taking showers, and devouring the deluxe breakfast special at a 'Bonnie's Good Eats'. They then drove over to the Milligan house. By the time they arrived a little after 10:00, the 'party' was pretty much over. They arrived to see Adam running around in circles with two other kids his age, both children of two of Kate's friends. Those friends left after a minute or two, but not before they got to witness Adam's leap into John's arms. "Dad! Dean, Sam! My birthday!" John tossed him up in the air before he squeezed his littlest tight, while Adam snuffled the side of his head. "I had a party! Now I'm four!" John was always amazed at the difference just a few months could make in a child's speech patterns. Of course he heard Adam's voice over the phone each week, but the changes never really hit him full force until he was WITH the kid, comparing it to the way Adam had spoken the last time he'd held him. His kid was growing up without him...

He only had a moment to dwell on it, though, before Adam was leaning out precariously, reaching for a brother. "DEAN!" John handed Adam over to Dean. "Hey, buddy! How's your birthday going?" "GOOD! See all my balloons?" "Yeah, I do, they're awesome, man!" John watched them complete their strange ear-and-neck sniffing ritual. It didn't slow their conversation down any, which possibly only made it stranger. Adam yammered about balloons with his nose stuffed behind Dean's ear, while Dean sucked in the air at Adam's neck like it was going out of style in between questions and responses. John often wondered whether Adam's sniffing was just a kid playing and mimicking, or whether he could actually smell whatever Sam and Dean smelt, too. Adam was too little to really interrogate about it, though. So who knew? After a moment they traded positions, Adam at Dean's neck, Dean at Adam's ear. All the sniffing still gave Kate the heebie-jeebies, but she had long since given up protesting it. The at least thrice-yearly visits for four years had gotten her almost used to it, and Adam obviously enjoyed it. It was very, very weird, but harmless. 

Adam was passed to Sam, next. Sam 'oof'ed. "You ARE getting big, Adam! Happy birthday!" Their wild, frenzied sniff-fest was a funny contrast to Dean's slower, more methodical smelling. They snuffled all over each other, hair, necks, faces, it hardly mattered. They were smelling it all! "Sam! You see the balloons?" "Yeah, I do!" "I had a CAKE, too! You wanna eat cake, too?" Kate and the boys all turned to John. "There's plenty left, they're welcome to have some." She didn't bother offering any to John. John never took ANYTHING from Kate, and it was plain that he would rather they didn't, either. Before he could say no, she added, "It IS a celebration..." John nodded. With Adam back in his arms, they followed Kate into the kitchen. She cut generous slices of cake, and set them in front of Sam and Dean, and was paid with two quiet but earnest 'thank you's. Kate watched as Dean downed his whole piece in less than a minute; Sam was polite enough to let it take him a few seconds longer. Well. Maybe Adam's unusually hearty appetite was genetic? Adam bounced on John. "Dad! You have cake, too!" John ruffled his hair. "No, thank you. Rather hear all about your birthday." That of course prompted Adam to start telling all about his balloons, and his cake when it had candles, and everybody singing, and... Yeah. All that. Everything that was part of the reason John had PLANNED to be 'late'. He had absolutely no desire to socialize with Kate's friends, whatsoever, but he was equally reluctant to rub Adam's relative well-offness in Dean and Sam's faces. Winchester birthdays were acknowledged, certainly, but a small treat of some sort and a few extra privileges for the day were usually about the extent of it - the birthday guy controlled the radio, got his shower first, could pick where they'd eat supper. No parties, though. Dean would never remember his own cake-and-balloon affairs from before they'd lost Mary.

Kate went to put Sam and Dean's dishes in the sink, and Adam slid off John's lap to lead his brothers to the enormous scattering of balloons in the living room. John took the opportunity to pull an envelope out of his pocket. Inside was the money he would have sent that month, plus an extra $10. "Didn't get him a present. Just get him whatever he needs." Kate nodded. She was never comfortable taking John's money, but had learned through experience it was best. Every time she'd ever tried to refuse it, John had reacted as though she'd spit in his face. She knew an actual court-enforced child support order would pull MORE out of him, but she didn't really need it, and she really did appreciate his willingness to step up on his own and be faithful about it. She always hesitated a second, though, because even though John never said it, she could tell it was a sacrifice. She just hoped his other boys wouldn't suffer because of it...

Several loud, simultaneous POW!s and a startled shriek sent them running to the living room, where they found Dean on his rear end breathing hard and scowling, Sam rolling and choking with laughter, and Adam bouncing excitedly between them. John just smiled, as Kate picked up pieces of broken balloon off the floor. "Well, boys? Didn't you have something for him?" "OH, YEAH!" They bounced up, Sam running to snatch their gift off the little entryway table where it had been left. Kate looked at John. "I thought you said you didn't get him a present?" John shrugged. "Didn't. This is all the boys." Sam pulled it out from behind his back with a flourish. "We got you a present, Adam! From me and Dean!" Adam snatched it excitedly, eyes big. "Present for me?" Dean nodded, smiling so hard he was like to split his face. "Yep! We picked it out just for you, little bro." Adam ripped it open and gasped. "Gun!" He was open-mouthed with shock and delight. "A water gun?" Sam and Dean nodded, grinning like idiots. "Yup! Your very own, that you can keep." Adam had to think a moment. He'd thought that water guns, ALL guns, had to stay in the trunk unless they were in the woods. And Dad always made him promise only to touch just the two... He turned to John, hopeful question making hm bug-eyed. John nodded, smiling. "That's for you. It's yours, kiddo." Adam looked at it a moment. "It's BIG!" Compared to the dinky ones, it certainly was! John nodded, "Guess Sam and Dean figured you're getting bigger, you needed a bigger one." Adam squeaked and danced with impatience! "CAN I SHOOT IT?" John laughed. "Boys, go fill that thing up and take him outside, would you?" Kate looked lost. "I guess I missed something?" John shrugged, gave her a highly edited version. "We let him play with Sam's old little water guns last time. He was rather taken with them." They settled themselves on the porch to watch the boys as they shot at the oak on the side of the yard, Adam with his new bigger one, Sam and Dean with the tiny ones from the trunk.

It was only later that night, as they drove southeast, that Dean got around to asking the same question he'd asked EVERY time they'd seen Adam since Dean's presentation. "I mean, you smelt him, right Sam?" "Of course I smelt him. Why wouldn't I?" "But, you didn't smell anything extra? Anything different?" "Well, yeah. Those other kids. And cake." Dean sighed. "Dude, you know that's not what I mean. Like, did HE smell different? From the way he did a year ago?" "Maybe you're just hung up on his old 'baby' smell. He's a KID now, Dean." "No, there's something. Something... under. I don't even know. But it's there. Freak, wish you could smell it, too!" John knew their noses were worth paying attention to, and had questioned him about it, before. What was it? Dean didn't know. Just something faint, something different. He couldn't put his finger on it. When Dean had FIRST mentioned it, John had been bothered enough to ask Kate to take Adam for an extra checkup soon, but nothing of note had been found. Still, Dean chewed on it, mulling for hours after each visit with the kid. He always assured John that it didn't smell BAD, like a problem or anything, but it bugged him that he couldn't pinpoint what it was...


	18. Close Encounter

Dean had never been overly fond of school. Aside from just learning how to read and write, and basic math, (which he admitted were useful skills) most of it just seemed like a big waste of time to him, something he had to do to avoid problems with truancy officers. Because Dad said so. But it wasn't terribly long after he presented that his list of reasons why he hated school began to grow. Part of it was his libido.

Seriously. Even Dean could admit that being surrounded by girls all day was just ASKING for trouble. He wasn't stupid, he could TOTALLY control himself. (And usually did.) But even though an omega's sex drive wasn't even a tenth that of alphas, it was still a smidge higher than most betas, and Dean didn't usually bother to hide it at all. Not only did it irritate his teachers that he spent most of his time gawking at his female classmates instead of listening or doing his work, but it didn't exactly sit well with other boys, either. Because the Winchesters were always moving, Dean was always the new guy. And a new guy trying to make moves on all the best-looking girls in the school just within his first few days? Yeah, that generally went over like a screen-door on a submarine. That is to say, it didn't. The girls themselves generally tended not to mind so much, (most considered him 'cute' or 'hot' and were flattered by the attention) and only occasionally did he meet with polite disinterest from one of them. The problem lay in the fact that most of the girls he pursued the hardest were typically either already someone else's girlfriend, or they just had a lot of admirers that didn't appreciate MORE competition. So Dean wound up in a lot of almost-fights.

Almost, because the Form A/B/O-0123 John had filled out followed Dean from school to school, and the teachers watched him like hawks. They weren't about to get sued for letting anything happen to the omega student whose parent had made abundantly clear that he meant for his son's person and rights to be protected, so the 'fights' seldom turned into much of anything. The staff were always right on top of it to break it up as soon as the first fist was drawn back. Quite often, though, Dean failed to appreciate what a truly good thing that was. Hot-headed and proud, Dean seemed regularly to forget just how weak he really was, and the fact that going up against one or more large betas could easily get him hurt, badly. Dean's height, speed, and dexterity might have fooled some into thinking that he was stronger than he was, but he was still an omega. With the exception (maybe) of a handful of particularly scrawny little guys here and there, guys that he MIGHT have been able to surprise with a few slick moves his dad had taught him, Dean really never had a snowball's chance in Hell, without a weapon.

But Dean insisted on thinking that he DID, and that he might have been able to handle himself, no matter HOW often his dad traitorously reminded him otherwise. Yeah, he was an omega. But he was also a typical teenaged boy, convinced that he was invincible. And it drove John crazy. After the third note home from one school in just a week's time, John was fed up, and spent the ride back to the motel letting the boy know just what he thought of it. "DEAN! What were you thinking? Or DO you think? Upsetting hormonal teenage betas unneccessarily is just asking for it. You should KNOW by now what happens when you cross boundaries and run your mouth!" Dean shifted in the seat. "Yeah, but Dad! They freaking started it! How was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend, and that he'd march up with three of his buddies? It's not like I molested her, or anything. I was just talking!" John did a mental facepalm. "Dean. Just think about it. Maybe WATCH a girl for a while, before approaching her. There are over a thousand kids in that school. Surely you can find one that isn't already laid claim to by a 250-lb. member of the WRESTLING TEAM?" Dean crossed his arms and sighed. "Yeah, well. SHE didn't have a problem talking to me. Bet she likes me better'n that fat-ass, anyway." John popped him on the leg. "Ow!" "Language, Dean." Dean pouted...

Sam, of course, continued to LOVE school, and do exceedingly well. The only issue Sam ever gave John with school was over another science project. He was supposed to write a 3-page essay comparing and contrasting two chemicals similar in appearance, and bring in samples of each to demonstrate. Sam thought table salt and 'salt' would be just the things - an idea John quickly and emphatically vetoed. "But Dad, they ARE similar! And we've already got both! AND it would be easy - I wouldn't even have to do that much research. We could just call Uncle Bobby and Mr. Caleb and get almost all the information I need!" John shook his head. "Nuh, uh. Answer's still no. People would want to know what it IS, what it's for. It'd just draw too much attention, Sam, shine a spotlight on things that don't need it. No." Sam tried a different tack. "Please? I could only just mention the odor-absorbing part, like it's an air freshener, or something. I wouldn't even have to bring up the part about how alphas think it stinks." "Answer's NO, Sam. Now drop it. Find something else." Sam huffed, said 'Yes, sir', and wound up doing his report on table salt and sugar. He got an A.

It was somewhere in Delaware, though, that Dean had a REAL problem at school. When he'd transferred in, he had been - like always before - the only non-beta. But during the first week of the Winchesters' two-week stay there, some other boy had missed four days of school. It was when that kid returned and walked back into Dean's third-period class that the trouble began. Because that kid had presented as an alpha.

Dean was already sitting in his seat, and could smell the guy from halfway down the hall. His nose twitched, and it took him a second to try and place that SMELL. But by the time he did, the kid was already approaching the door. ALPHA...

Dean, of course, was on scent suppressants, so the new alpha didn't smell DEAN until he was already in the room. He walked in and froze. The alpha (named Joel) literally just stood there and stared. Hungrily. Enormous instant-erection immediately obvious. Dean stared back, and trembled...

Dean had never actually met a real, live alpha, aside from the two hunters his dad worked with once when he was about six. He sometimes smelt one on his dad when John came back from a hunt, but those smells were always faint and faded, and somehow WARPED. Sick, wrong. But this was an alpha standing not ten feet away from him, and he didn't smell wrong, at all. He smelled... strong. Intimidating. And ridiculously erotic. Dean wasn't at all sure whether he loved the smell, or hated it. He just sat there, bug-eyed and shaking like a leaf, with a boner of his own. FUCK. What should he do?

Seconds ticked by, before the teacher looked up and realized she needed to do something. She cleared her throat. "Joel? You need to take a seat, please. One at least two rows away from Dean." The alpha growled at that, but complied. The seat he chose was far enough away from Dean that he was in compliance, but close enough and at a perfect angle for him to have a good view. They stared openly at one another across the aisles. Dean had never before actually seen a red ring in an eye that wasn't almost his dad's age. It was mesmerizing. He almost swore that he could see it TURN. Did rings turn? Did they? Or was that smell messing with him so bad that he was hallucinating? Other kids stared at his Joel's new eyes, too, but Joel had no time to answer their questions - he was too busy studying Dean. Neither of them heard the first thing the teacher said all class-period. They took no notes, turned in no work, and only gave the front of the room the most fleeting of glances whenever the teacher hesitantly called one of their names.

Dean was aroused, probably more so than he'd ever yet been. And he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He had met Joel his first day there, and had thought nothing of him. Just another dude he shared a class with. The guy might not have been completely butt-ugly, but still, his looks hadn't done the first thing for Dean, because Dean was pretty damn sure that he only liked girls. Hell, he LOVED girls. Couldn't get enough of girls, everything about girls! Dean had never felt so much as a passing twinge for a guy - not even once, ever. But that SMELL. Fuck! Had him so hard he couldn't think of anything else. Hypnotic red iris-ring and not-sick alpha scent. Stupid pad was SODDEN.

It was only when the bell rang that they were both shaken out of their lust-stupor. Dean shook his head, grabbed his backpack, and RAN. He bolted down the hall to the staff bathroom, rushed in and locked the door. He leaned against it, panting. FUCK. What the hell? After catching his breath, Dean realized that the pad wasn't going to be able to hold anymore. There was already the very tiniest of wet spots soaking through on the upper inside of one of his thighs. He was suddenly glad that his dad made him carry an extra with him. He changed it and then just stood there, still hard as a rock. What was he gonna do, walk around school like that all day? He quickly jerked off and gave himself some relief. After cleaning himself off, he sank down onto the floor. He really didn't wanna go back out there. He was too shaky now, too freaked out, too scared of running into Joel in the hall. Because he'd seen Joel's interest, seen the huge fucking hard-on he'd sprouted. And the guy had GROWLED. Like a fucking animal, or something. He didn't smell sick, and he had obeyed the teacher and controlled himself, but he still scared Dean. What the fuck was Dean supposed to do? He wanted his dad...

He had just made up his mind to go to the office and get them to call his dad's work, when a loud knock on the door made him jump. "Dean? Are you in there? Are you OK?" It was the principal. Dean hadn't realized how long he had been in there. It was already a third of the way through his next class. What Dean didn't know was that after he'd bolted out of there, several of the teachers had convened a quick meeting with the principal during the interim between classes. They had known about both boys' designations, but hadn't anticipated their reaction to each other. Joel had been briefly pulled aside and spoken to, and it had been decided that they would give Dean some time. But almost 20 minutes had gone by with Dean still in the bathroom, so the principal had volunteered himself to go check on him. Dean's voiced wavered slightly. "I'm fine. Sir." A pause. "Do you need to see the nurse? I'd be happy to walk you there, or bring her to you." "N-no. No, sir." Another pause. The principal cleared his throat. "You've been in there a long time, Dean. If you can, I need you to come out, so we can SEE how fine you are. OK?" Dean stared at his knees. No. It wasn't OK. His voice came out small and childish-sounding. "Can I call my dad? Please, sir. I really want my dad." The principal sounded immensely brighter after that. "Sure! We'll call your dad. Come on out, and we'll call him right from my office." Dean's relief was instantaneous. "O-OK. Just gimme a minute." Dean zipped his pants back up and washed his hands, before grabbing his backpack.

The walk down the hall seemed to take FOREVER. Dean kept looking over his shoulder, sure Joel would pop out any second. He wasn't really scared of the guy. He was shorter than Dean, calm and quiet, not a troublemaker. It was just... the whole THING that scared Dean. Once they stepped into the principal's office, he immediately took the liberty of shutting and locking the door, even pulling a chair in front of it. The principal was a bit taken aback. "You're perfectly safe in here, Dean. But we can't block exits. That's a fire hazard." He moved the chair back, much to Dean's dismay. "Have a seat, and I'll call your dad for you." Dean sat and clutched his backpack. He wanted Dad. He wanted Sammy. He wanted to be in the Impala. He even wanted little Adam! He wanted something - anything - that was safe and familiar. He watched the principal dialing, and sniffed the right strap of his backpack that still carried a tiny trace of his dad's scent, from where he'd picked it up with sweaty hands the day before.

"Yes, I'd like to speak to John Winchester, please." A pause. "Mr. Winchester, how are you? This is Mr. Hughes, the high school principal. No, no, Dean hasn't done a thing. I'm told his behavior all day has been wonderful. But actually, Mr. Winchester, we DO have a small issue. One of Dean's classmates came back today after presenting as an alpha, and-" Another, longer pause. "Sir. I can promise you that Dean is fine. He's sitting right here in front of me, but Mr. Winchester, he's very upset. I went to check on him after he'd locked himself in the bathroom for 20 minutes. He wanted me to call you." Pause. "Thank you. I'll keep him in here with me." The principal hung up, and looked at Dean. "Your dad is on his way. He should be here in about 15 minutes." Some of the tension left Dean's shoulders as he nodded. The principal typed away on a computer, while Dean stared out the window.

Dean jumped at the loud knock on the door. Mr. Hughes got up and unlocked it, backing away as John burst through. "DAD!" Dean leaped out of his seat and latched his arms around his dad's chest. John squeezed him back with one arm, the other frantically searching and feeling, looking for any injury. His voice was hoarse. "Dean, my boy. You're alright? Tell me if you're not!" Dean shook his head. "M'fine, Dad." He was definitely NOT crying...

Mr. Hughes gave them a minute, before inviting John to have a seat. John pulled Dean down with him onto his lap, obviously unwilling to let go of him. Which was actually fine, because Dean didn't feel ready to let go, either. He just hid his face in his dad's neck. Screw Mr. Hughes, he could think whatever he wanted. He hadn't just had a close encounter with an alpha that wanted him. Dean bet Mr. Hughes would want his dad, too, if he had. He breathed deeply of John's scent, and refused to think about it, just let himself get lost in how SAFE his dad smelled. His dad could totally kick alpha ass, if he needed to. He did it all the time...

Mr. Hughes gave John the low-down on what all had happened: the way it had been described by the teacher, Dean's reactions, his sprint down the hall. He relayed the gist of the meeting he'd had with Dean and Joel's teachers, as well as his talk with Joel. He reassured John that nothing overly untoward had happened, that they had followed all legally-required proceedures, and no one's safety had been compromised. He spoke for a minute about how generally trustworthy a kid Joel was, how he had never been a problem before, was a well-behaved student that seldom got into even mild trouble, and so he wasn't really worried. John wasn't convinced, though. "It's just the one class they share? Can one of them be switched, put in a different one?" Unfortunately, the answer was no. Earth Science was a required subject in that grade and track, and there was only ONE teacher teaching it, only once a day. The two boys could be kept strictly apart the rest of the day, could be monitored in the hall and could eat on opposite sides of the cafeteria, but they would both have to stay in that class.

John was pissed, though he knew he had little right to be. The staff seemed very committed to doing all they reasonably could, but requirements were requirements. Still, John fumed a moment, before speaking again. "Could Dean meet this requirement some other way? Do the work in a study hall, listening to taped lectures, or something?" No. He couldn't. ALL of the staff were busy that period, needed somewhere. No one could spend it monitoring only Dean. John's jaw moved. "Then what do you recommend?" Mr. Hughes was willing to have the teacher keep a walkie-talkie locked in the 'ON/TALK' position for the whole class period, so that he could listen in for any trouble. John nodded, accepting that, and made a few suggestions (demands) of his own. "I want Dean seated absolutely as far from that boy as possible. And I want someone to make sure there's a moment between Dean and that alpha getting out the door. Boy might BE trustworthy, but I don't know him, don't want to give him any chance of accosting Dean in the hall, after." Mr. Hughes frowned, thinking. "That's walking a fine line, Mr. Winchester. I understand your concern, but I can't make the other boy feel like he's being punished, or anything. Not until he actually does something, not just for being who he is. But we'll do what we can. Seating can be assigned in that class from now on, certainly. Dismissal from the room will require much more... tact and diplomacy. I'm sure you understand." John nodded curtly. "Sure. Whatever you can do, I'd appreciate." John looked down at Dean, who still had his face hidden, and sighed, rubbing Dean's neck with his thumb. "Think it'd be best I take him for the rest of the day." Mr. Hughes nodded. "Yes, I think you should. We'll try things a little differently tomorrow." John reached forward to shake hands. "We have to go to the main office and sign out? 'Cause I'd really just like to get him in the car and gone." The principal waved him out. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. We'll see you in the morning, Mr. Winchester." John held a hand gently on the back of Dean's neck all the way to the car.

There were still a few hours until Sam's school let out, so John just drove around for a bit, slowly pulling out Dean's version of the story. Dean was calmer, but foggy, tired. After a bit, John stopped somewhere and got Dean a chocolate milkshake. Anything to wake him up a little! Because it was nearly time to go get Sam, he grabbed his other boy a small strawberry/banana one, before slowly driving in the middle school's direction. Once there, Sam hopped in, unaware of how traumatic the day had been. He was just about to tell them about the state-wide, middle-school poetry writing contest that his teacher had urged him to participate in, when Dean clambered straight over the seat and snuggled into him. "Uh, hey, Dean. I love you, too?" Dean just snuggled him harder. "Shuddup." Sam hugged him back, but looked to John for clues. John half-smiled. "He had a rough day." Sam petted Dean's arms. "Aww. It's OK, Dean. Everybody has rough days. No worries, I'll hug you anytime you need it." Dean socked him in the arm. "Said shut up. Not a frickin' girl, Samantha." He set to work sniffing Sam's shoulder. John just handed the milkshake he'd bought back to Sam, as he turned toward the nearby shooting range.

It was later that night, after they had settled down for bed, that Dean brought something up. Sam, of course, had heard the story by then, and had been torn between horror and fascination. Dean had been mulling hard on it. "Dad?" "Yeah, Dean?" "I'm on the scent suppressants, but he still smelt me. I mean, I smelt him first, 'cause I could smell him coming down the hall, but he walked in and still smelled me, I could tell when he did. What do I do? Can I just take extra pills, so he won't?" John rolled over to face the other bed. "No. Taking more won't make you smell less. Extras'll just make you dizzy and sick, maybe throw up. One a day is it." John had asked the same question when he first put Dean on them, had read everything there was to read on them. Dean sighed. "Wish I could cover my smell up with something, then. Block it, somehow." John paused, idea brewing. "Maybe..." Dean stared from the other bed. "Yeah?" John sat up. "Yeah. Get dressed, boys. Shoes and socks. Now." They bounced up, Sam asking, "So where we going?" John pulled his shirt over his head, tied his boots. "Drugstore. Get a move on." Walking into a 24-hour place down the street, John led them to the counter, where a bored-looking 20-ish something guy stood. "We need spray deodorant. GOOD stuff. And colognes, aftershaves, whatever you have for men that has a strong smell." The guy stared a second, then started walking off. "S'over this way..." After locating the most effective sweat-blocker the store offered that could be sprayed all over most of the body, the bored guy walked them to a locked glass cabinet. "You want smell stuff, this is what we got. Unless you just want something like Old Spice, or Brut. Those are over by the razors." John looked a second. "Are these any stronger, or just more expensive?" Drugstore guy shrugged. "SOME of it's stronger. Most'll last longer, anyway. It's just whatever you want, man." John was thinking. "We'd like to smell 'em." Drugstore guy pulled a key out of his pocket. muttering under his breath. "'Course you do. Nothing better to do after eleven o'clock." John ignored him, in favor of telling Dean, "Nothing more than $25. Nothing over $25'll be THAT much better, so keep it under that. Just find something you like, then let me have a smell." Dean was a little overwhelmed. There were about twenty of them in that price range! Sam decided to help him out. "Smell that one, Dean." They slowly smelt about eighteen of them, squirting the testers for those that had one, scratching the scratch-n-sniffs for those that didn't. About half of them made their sensitive noses itch, and most of the others Dean thought either smelled almost girly, or just had sissy names. No way was he wearing anything called 'Bronco Body' or 'Honey Magnet'. Who the hell came up with the names for this shit? After a few minutes, Dean handed a tester to his dad of something both he and Sam could tolerate called 'Firekick'. "What about that?" John sniffed it, squirted it on Dean's arm, sniffed again. His main concern was that it not smell sweet. He didn't know himself, because he couldn't smell it as a beta, but he'd been told that an omega's scent was somewhat almost sweet. There was no point in trying to hide Dean's natural sweetness with artificial sweetness. Who knew, but what if that actually AMPLIFIED Dean's normal smell? The one Dean handed him wasn't sweet at all, though. It smelt more like spice and smoke, if John had been forced to try and describe it. It wasn't a smell he LOVED, but he didn't hate it, either. If it helped hide Dean...

"Yeah. That'll work. You like it?" Dean shrugged. "I guess. Like it better than most of this crap." Actually, the one he'd liked best (one Sam had stuck under his nose) he'd refused to consider just on principle. Anything that was LIGHT PURPLE surely belonged in the girl aisle, no matter how awesome it smelled. This stuff would do, though. "OK, then. We'll take it." Drugstore guy locked the cabinet back, checked them out.

That next morning, Dean sprayed himself all over with deodorant and then doused his neck and wrists in cologne after a shower. John sighed. Honestly? His son smelt like an idiot, wearing so much, but they were only going be there through the rest of that week, so maybe he wouldn't have to deal with it all that often - unless the next school ALSO had an alpha. Sam scrunched up his nose. "I mean, it smells OK, I guess... It just doesn't smell like YOU." Dean just tied his shoes. "Kinda the point, Sam!" He stood up. "I mean, you say it doesn't smell like me. That mean you can't smell me through it at all?" Sam sniffed. "I can still smell you under it, but it's kind of... muffled? You still smell like you, but it takes a second. I have to FIND you under there. Under all that." Dean nodded, and looked at his dad. A presented alpha would have a sharper sense of smell than unpresented Sam, but if it took Sam a second, maybe that would slow down the alpha noticing him just a little? They hoped so.

John dropped Sam off at school first, then took Dean. They were just a few minutes early. The principal was there to meet them at the door. Dean was a lot more WITH it that day. At least he wasn't in shock the way he had been, and knew more or less what to expect. He still hung close to his dad, though, even if he wasn't clinging to him. The principal was just annoyingly cheerful. "Hello, Dean! Mr. Winchester. How are things? Are you feeling better, Dean?" Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wanting very much to appear as mature as possible, after the day before. Maybe acting like an adult about it would make Mr. Hughes forget him sitting on his Dad? Whatever. He'd had a pretty valid excuse for it, if you asked him. His dad and Mr. Hughes conversed a moment, before his dad patted his shoulder and walked off. Dean was told he could stay in the office until the bell rang, an offer he took the man up on. 

It was the single slowest day of school, EVER. It took a LIFETIME for third period to roll around, and it was all Dean could think about. And all he HEARD about. Apparently his and Joel's issues the day before were now the talk of the town. Dean was forced to endure the questions of half a dozen students wanting to know if they were a thing now, and was it because they were an alpha and an omega? A couple students, trying to be open-minded and supportive, even voiced the opinion that they thought they'd be 'cute' together. The real rub, though? The confused girls apologizing, saying they didn't know Dean was 'like that'. All Dean's objections that he wasn't were useless, since there had been some twenty-odd witnesses to just how 'like that' both he and Joel were. The entire school was now convinced that he was gay, and had just hid it until Joel presented, when his walls just finally couldn't hold up, anymore. Dean hid his head in his arms. His life sucked. And he seriously hated Joel.

Dean ran to Earth Science, trying to get there FIRST. But Joel was already there! He had his back turned, though. Dean held his breath, walked in... And was still noticed. Maybe it took just a couple seconds longer than the day before, but he could still see Joel's neck stiffen when he smelled him. Of course, Dean could smell him, too, and fuck his life, he was already hard. Damn it! Why? The teacher turned around from where she'd been writing something on the board, and announced that there were going to be assigned seats, from then on. A groan arose from the entire class, several accusing looks thrown at Dean and Joel. To no one's surprise, those two were put in opposing corners - Joel in the front left, Dean in the back right. Dean was BEYOND glad that he was the one behind the alpha. He felt more secure being in a position to SEE if the guy got up or moved in any way. Joel, however, was irritated, and stared behind him almost the entire class period. The teacher gave up trying to get him to keep his eyes on her; it was a lost cause. But his refusal to focus gave her an excuse to hold him after class a moment, giving Dean a chance to slip out first.

After a trip to the bathroom to relieve his 'need', the rest of the day was worse than that morning. "He's SO into you, Dean!" Yeah. Pretty obvious. Girls he had flirted with now just considered him another girlfriend, and told him how lucky he was to be wanted so bad by such a hottie. So Dean tried to use that. "I don't know. I mean, you oughta know all about it. Been wanting YOU..." One girl gave him a shove. "Oh, quit playing, Dean. We KNOW who you want!" "But I'm serious...!" Didn't matter. A couple dudes walked up to him and handed him a flyer for some letters club, LBSQZ, or something, and congratulated him on coming out. But Dean's mind was elsewhere. "Yeah... Wait. Coming out of what?" They looked at each other. "Umm. The closet?" It took Dean a moment. "Oh, SCREW you! Why the hell does everybody think I'm gay?!" It was THEIR turn to look confused. "Uh, probably because you and a hot guy can't even be in the same room with each other without getting so turned on all you do is stare? You're not really still in denial, are you?" OK, now Dean was just pissed. He shoved past them, dropping the flyer. "I'm NOT gay. Just a fucking omega!" But of course, a teacher had to hear that, and gave him write-offs for cussing. Which only made him want to cuss, more!

By the time his dad showed up, Dean was pretty sure he just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Worst day ever. It had been arranged for his dad to pick him up straight from the principal's office, where Dean sat doing the stupid write-offs. His relief when his dad showed up was palpable. "Dad! Oh, thank God. Let's just get out of here..." John grabbed his arm. "Hold your horses." He turned to the principal. "I assume things went better today? No phone call..." Mr. Hughes smiled broadly. "Things went VERY well! I was able to listen in to that class, nothing noteworthy I could hear. They do have assigned seating now, and the teacher was even able to come up with an excuse to hold the other boy a moment so Dean could slip out the way you wanted. I can't promise that will happen EVERY day, but we'll keep trying to see what we can come up with. Really nothing to report, except that Dean DID earn himself some write-offs. Apparently he had some trouble choosing his words in the hall." John shot Dean a withering look. "Well, thank you, sir." "Any time, Mr. Winchester!"

John escorted Dean out to the Impala. "Trouble choosing your words, Dean?" He swatted him smartly before pushing him in. "Ow!" Dean looked around, making sure nobody saw that. "Geez, Dad. Write-offs not enough, you gotta smack me, too?" John started the car. "That's for making me look bad, after I intervene on your behalf. Everybody going above and beyond for you, and you can't even watch your mouth? Oughta smack you again, little boy." Dean looked out the window. "Sorry, Dad." John smirked. "Well. Forgiven. But tell me how it went." Dean threw his head back. "TERRIBLE! Whole freaking school thinks I'm gay!" But John wanted to know something else. "Cologne. It help any?" Dean shook his head. "Not really. Mighta delayed him smelling me a whole three seconds. Then it was the same sh- crap. Same crap." John side-eyed him, but then got serious. "You could smell him, again?" Dean nodded. "And both of you reacted 'bout like you did yesterday?" Another nod. John sighed. "That's probably it, then. As much deodorant and cologne as you were wearing this morning, it probably wasn't your sweat. Was probably your slick." Dean crumpled. "But... there's nothing I can do about that! It just happens. What, should I spray deodorant down there, too? All over my underwear? My pants?" John's eyes got wide, and he shook his head. "NO, Dean, don't spray it down there. Would irritate you. Your clothes, though? Maybe." They pulled up at the middle school and got in line. Dean received permission to fiddle with the radio. A couple minutes later, he looked up and grinned. "Hey! There's Sammy!"

Said little brother slid into the backseat. "Hi, Dad. Hi, Dean. Guess what? Teacher entered that poem I wrote into that contest for me. Said she thinks I've got a pretty good chance." John nodded. "Good deal." Dean piped up, "Yeah, good luck with that, Sam." Sam looked at him. "So? Did you and that alpha smell each other again?" Dean slumped in his seat. "Yeah. Same thing." Sam was upset. "Even after you wore all that stuff?" Dean nodded forlornly. "Yup." Sam was staring out in space. "Wow. That's crazy." Then he asked the question that had been eating at him since the day before. "So... what does HE smell like?" John glanced over. He wanted to know, too. Dean stared at his hands. "Smells... I don't really know. Like alpha. Like..." He almost stopped, but John and Sam were both waiting. Sam poked him in the arm. "Smells like, salt? The kind you eat? And... heat." Both John and Sam whirled to look at him, confused. "Not like an omega's heat! Just... Like asphalt in the middle of summer. Sort of. Not exactly, but sort of." Sam's face was screwed up in thought. "So... like the desert?" Sam was trying to grasp at what 'salty and hot' might smell like. "Um, sort of. But then mix that with just dude. And something else I can't put my finger on." Sam thought a moment. "But is it a nice smell, or what?" Dean answer was barely a whisper. "It's awesome. But scary."


	19. Rapprochement

The next day, Dean doused himself in even more of the cologne than before, AND sprayed so much deodorant all over his underwear and the inside of his pants that the material was as stiff as if it had been starched. Sam was concerned. "That gonna itch you, Dean?" Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Don't really care. Anything, if he'll just quit STARING at me." Sam nodded. "Well, your scent is definitely harder to detect under all that. Still THERE, but all that stuff's pretty distracting." Even John nodded at that. Dean had so much deodorant and cologne on, it was worse than cheap hairspray. In the car, Sam meekly asked if they could leave the windows down - a suggestion John readily agreed to, in spite of Dean protesting that the wind would blow all his chemical scents off. "We gotta breathe 'til we get you there!"

At school, Dean ignored all the questions about him and Joel, and the fact that none of the girls seemed interested anymore. That was fine. He didn't really want them, either. He only had that and two more days to put up with this shit, then they'd be moving again. Just finish the week...

He arrived in Earth Science before the alpha, and sat down in his assigned corner. Joel came in a minute later, eyes flitting anxiously, searching for him. He was spotted and stared at, before a look of disgust and frustration creeped over the alpha's face. Dean swallowed. He was glad that it had actually taken a moment for Joel to smell him, and glad that Joel didn't seem to want what he smelled, (soaked in chemicals as he was) but he had never displeased an alpha, before. It made him nervous, like maybe he'd done something wrong?

For the first time, Joel DIDN'T insist on staring at him. Instead, he focused on actually listening to the teacher, and taking notes. And Dean was confused. This was what he wanted, right? For the dude to leave him alone? But he found himself only the tiniest bit... disappointed? No. Not disappointed. WORRIED. If the alpha that had wanted him so badly was suddenly ignoring him, what did that mean? What was going to happen? Dean didn't know. He just stared at the back of Joel's head, fear simmering...

After a few minutes, the teacher began handing out rock samples for them to pass around and examine. A piece of quartz made its way to Dean, along with a small folded note. He unfurled and read it.

\--Why do you keep wearing more and more of that stuff? You're covering up your scent. You smell beautiful naturally, you don't need all that. Joel--

Dean blinked. An alpha was communicating with him. Telling him he smelled BEAUTIFUL? Man, was he confused. He went back to studying his rock, before passing it to the kid in front of him. Four minutes and two rocks later, another note came.

\--Notes are the only way I can talk to you. The teachers are always watching us. Please write back. Joel--

Dean stared at the note a moment, before shoving it under his notebook and going back to his rock. He didn't need this shit. He wasn't going to be 'wooed' by some alpha - some GUY - just because he smelt sexy as hell and wrote him notes that said he was beautiful. Nuh, uh. Fuck that. Dean got busy testing the hardness of sandstone, trying to pay his OWN hardness no mind. A couple minutes later, another note landed on his desk. 

\--Dean, you are ignoring me. Why are you being rude? I'm trying to be nice. Please send something back. Joel--

Dean snorted. He wasn't being rude, he was being smart. He gave this guy ANY attention, and he'd NEVER leave him alone. Dude all but drooled when he saw him, anyway; if he responded to notes, the guy would probably think he'd won him over! Nope. Operation Ignore was on! Or at least, it was until the NEXT note arrived.

\--I won't ever let my girlfriend or boyfriend be rude to me. You need to learn some manners, Dean. Joel--

What the fuck? This guy was actually trying to tell him off? By NOTE? What kind of bullshit was this? He wanted a reply? Fine, Dean would give him a reply. He handed off his rock along with his OWN folded bit of paper.

\--You want a boyfriend? Talk to the dude with the bowtie and earrings handing out flyers in the hall. Bet he could help you out. Dean--

Dean looked up and grinned at Joel, who was looking back at him. Watched him read the note. Then wondered if he'd made a mistake, as he watched the anger spread across Joel's face. There was no good way to deal with any of this. Fuck...

Another note arrived.  
\--I know what we are. I've been to the doctor. My mom took me to the library to read up on it. I'm an alpha, and you're an omega. I promise I will never let anybody call you gay if that bothers you. Because we are not, we are something different anyway. Joel--

Dean freaked.  
\--WE are not anything. And you're damn straight I'm not gay. Leave me alone. Dean--

Responses were coming faster, as the rest of the class was getting energized by this silent conversation between the two most interesting characters in the school. Because yes, they were ALL reading this. Rocks? Who gave a damn about rocks?

\--You're just scared of me. But I promise I won't hurt you. I'm a nice guy. Joel--

\--I ain't scared of shit. Fuck with me, and I MIGHT hurt you. Or my dad will. Dean--

\--If you ask, maybe our parents could talk after school. My mom comes to get me, too. Joel--

\--Our parents have nothing to talk about. Neither do we. Quit writing me notes. Dean--

\--We should talk in person. That is better than notes. Ask your dad about meeting my mom. It will be great. Joel--

\--Won't be great. Will be you getting your face smashed in, and me laughing. Fuck off. Dean--

\--Why are you so rude, Dean? Maybe because you are lonely and need someone to help you calm down and relax. I can help you with that. Joel--

\--Don't need your help, fuck-face. Amanda thinks you're a hottie. Go help her. Dean--

\--Do you think I'm a hottie too? I find you attractive. Joel--

\--I'd rather be with Ms. Thompson, in American History. Her fat rolls look better than you. Dean--

\--Now you're being rude to her, too. Besides, I know you're just saying stuff to make me mad. You like me. That's why you're staring at me right now. Joel--

\--I'm staring because you're stinking up the room. Dean--

\--You have a strong smell too, Dean. That's your most attractive feature. But you are the one that stinks, because you're wearing a lot of chemical stuff. I don't really like it. Don't wear it tomorrow. Joel--

\--Who are you to tell me what to wear or not wear? I'll wear whatever I want. GOOD if you don't like it! Dean--

\--You are trying to make me mad. I'm trying not to, because I have a really bad temper sometimes. I'm trying to stay calm. You should help me with that, by making me happy. I'll make you happy, too. Joel--

But then the teacher started collecting her rocks back, and the bell rang. Dean jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Pad-changing and masturbation before fourth period was just part of his daily routine, now.

The whole rest of the day, students talked about Dean and Joel's note-convo. It was repeated, broken apart, analyzed, searched for hidden meanings. Dean, himself, thought it was pretty straightforward. Joel was a dipshit that wanted him, Dean didn't. Dean told him to take a hike, Joel kept trying. All there was to it. Joel was just annoyingly persistent, and couldn't take a damned hint even when you spelled it out for him! He waited for his dad in Mr. Hughes' office, tired, and tired of his self-imposed chemical cloud. Ugh...

On their way to go get Sam, Dean griped to John. "Whole freaking school thinks we're an item, like I'm just playing hard to get, or something. I'ma be so glad to move!" It didn't occur to Dean to tell his dad about the actual note-passing. He didn't think about it, but maybe because he really didn't want to. John would have the teachers put a stop to it, and even though Dean really didn't want to talk to Joel, it WAS kind of a relief to know more exactly what was on his mind. Maybe it was a security thing? At any rate, annoying as it was, Dean didn't want it clamped down on. That would piss Joel off, and he'd already admitted that he had a temper. But all those thoughts were subconscious, anyway, so Dean didn't have to look square at them.

The next day, Dean put loads of deodorant and cologne on again, and walked into school more confident than he had been. At least he sort of knew what he was dealing with, now. He could handle it. He'd just listen to everybody's shit all morning, be hot and bothered for an hour during third period, and then run to the bathroom and jack off, before spending the rest of the day listening to more of everyone's opinions about him and Joel. He had this!

In Earth Science, they didn't have rocks again, but Joel still managed to slip a note to him within just a few minutes. The whole class was keen for the next episode in their live, daily soap opera: 'Dean and Joel'.

\--Dean, you are still wearing all that aftershave. Why? Joel--

\--It's cologne, not aftershave. Because I feel like it. And you're not my dad. Dean--

\--You're rude and disobedient. I'll never let my omega treat me like this. I won't put up with it. Grow up and be polite, Dean. Joel--

\--Again, you're not my dad. And I feel sorry for whoever your omega is. They got it shitty, stuck with you. Dean--

\--I hoped you would be my omega, Dean. You would be a wonderful one after I teach you to speak to people respectfully. Joel--

\--Yeah fucking right. You only want me because I'm the ONLY omega around here. Respect my ass. Dean--

\--I almost wish I didn't like you. You are one of the rudest people I know. If I could I would shake you, to get you to stop that. You're a bad influence. Joel--

\--You touch me, and all holy hell will descend on you. You're right, I'm a bad egg. So leave me the fuck alone. Dean--

\--I am going to ignore your rudeness and just try to get to know you. What is your middle name? Mine is Connor. Joel--

\--My middle name is None-ya. Dean--

\--What is your favorite band? Mine is my uncle's, The BlueFigs. Joel--

\--The fucking BlueFigs? What the hell kind of name is that? Dean--

\--Maybe you would like them. They're an electric rock/jazz fusion group. Really cool. They're playing at the Water Barrel tonight at 6:30. You should come! Joel--

\--Bet you think you're smooth. You just asked me out on a date. But I can't. Me and my dad and brother have shit to do every evening. Outta luck, man. Dean--

\--What do you and your dad and brother do? Joel--

Dean was SO tempted to write, "Learn how to kill fuckers like you." But he didn't. Instead:  
\--We go learn self-defense shit. I'm pretty badass. Don't fuck with me. Dean--

\--Like karate? I did karate for a couple years when I was little. Was fun. What belt are you? Joel--

\--Leather. Dean--

\--Why are you so closed off? Are you still scared of me? Are you trying to scare me off? I want to be your friend, Dean. See how nice I'm trying to be? Joel--

\--Friends don't wanna jump your bones and teach you respect. Fuck that. Dean--

\--You're scared of mating. We wouldn't have to do that right away. Our parents could stay with us the first few times we hung out. That way you could get used to me first. Joel--

Fuck. Dean couldn't even respond to that. On paper, up to that point, the guy'd seemed like just a nice enough, boring kid that was trying to be sweet, even if he was a little overbearing. But to talk about MATING, with that alpha SMELL in the air... It was too much, he was gonna have a stroke, or something. Dean was just waiting on his damn dick to just go ahead and fall off, already! He suddenly got why they told old guys with heart issues not to have sex. Overload...

Another note from Joel.  
\--It's OK, Dean. We'll be beautiful together. You don't have to be scared. I'll be so careful with you. Joel--

Dean couldn't think straight. He didn't want that, he didn't want him. But he really wanted SOMEBODY. Something like that. But not Joel. Just... He heard the teacher call his name, wanting to know if he was OK. Apparently he had been staring down at his binder for several minutes. He nodded. "Uh. Yes, ma'am. Just, uh, thinking." The teacher went on lecturing, and Dean turned to look at Joel. The guy was staring at him, like he usually was. Dean stared back, swallowed. Joel smelled like awesomeness, itself, but he didn't want Joel. But you know? He wanted something LIKE Joel. He didn't know who. But he wanted somebody to want him, to want to MATE him, to promise to be careful with him. He wanted that. Just - not with Joel. He saw Joel tear his eyes away to write him another note. Dean had NO idea how the teacher wasn't picking up on this. Joel was sitting in the front row, right in front of her! She had to be either half daft, or blind, one. The note changed hands several times, read by all that touched it before it was handed to Dean. Within an hour or so, the entire school would know that he had been propositioned. That he had been offered a date, sex, and a lifelong mate. But Dean couldn't even bring himself to care.

\--I asked my mom this morning about meeting your dad. She said she would show up early and talk to the principal, figure out how. It'll be OK, Dean. Joel--

Dean's heart squeezed. No. No, it WOULDN'T be okay. Either he would wind up getting raped while their parents weren't looking, (OK, probably not) or John would be highly tempted to just take Joel out (much more likely). Actually, after Dean took a breath and thought a moment, neither of those were likely to happen. What MIGHT happen was Dad getting the idea that he wanted this guy. But he didn't! Well, his private regions wanted him, but HE didn't. But John might think that, Joel already thought that, Joel's mom might think that. And then what? Announce that he didn't? Being rude to Joel was one thing, being rude to Joel's MOM was another. But part of him didn't want to admit that what he really worried about was Joel, and Joel's feelings. 'Cause he wasn't worried about that. Was he?

All day Dean dragged, dreading dismissal. Which was weird, since that was usually Dean's favorite part of the day - besides lunch. Mr. Hughes noticed his restlessness when he walked in that afternoon. "Hello, Dean... Are you OK?" Dean's heart dropped. "Um. Yes, sir." Mr. Hughes peered at him. "If your father agrees, we'll have a meeting of sorts when he arrives. Joel's mother would like to speak with him about letting you two visit under their supervision." Dean said nothing, just played with the zipper on his backpack. "How would you feel about that?" Dean undid and then rebuttoned his cuff. "Um. I dunno. Whatever Dad thinks." Mr. Hughes nodded, and went back to signing letters.

When John arrived, Dean snuggled into his side. Dean didn't care, he wanted to. He felt lost. Hell, Mr. Hughes had already seen him crying on his dad's lap. What was a hug, after all that? John pulled him close, and Mr. Hughes stood up. "Mr. Winchester, we've been asked to extend an offer to you. IF you want it." He had John's attention. "The alpha boy, Joel? His mother would like to meet with you for a few minutes, if you're willing. Apparently she's heard quite a bit about Dean from Joel, and wonders if perhaps the four of you might not be able to speak in person. It would mean a great deal to her, and Joel, too." John was looking at Dean, then. Dean didn't want to look back. Mr. Hughes continued, "I understand completely if you don't wish to. But she is in the main office, if you DID want to speak with her. Both the school security officer and I can be in there with you and Dean, if you would like witnesses, an audience. You've made plain how you feel about your son being exposed to him." John's arm tightened around Dean. He spoke softly. "Dean?" The unasked questions were loud and clear: Did Dean want this? Had he had anything to do with it? Just as softly came the answer. "I don't know, Dad."

John stood there a moment. His first instinct was to say no, HELL no. His boy didn't need to be anywhere NEAR an alpha. And he had seen how upset Dean was that first day, had heard Dean moan about how annoyed he was with the kid's very existence. But Dean had been growing steadily less upset day by day, and now? Now Dean didn't look sure of anything. John made an instant, executive decision. "Yes. Yes, let's go talk to her." Dean looked up, surprised. "Really? Are you sure?" John nodded. "Talk about it in the car." He DID have reasons...

Mr. Hughes called the main office to let them know they were coming, radioed the security officer. They walked in, and there stood Joel and a tiny, bobbed-haired woman that had to be his mom. She stuck a hand out. "You're Mr. Winchester? I'm Mrs. Thomasson. Joel's mother." John shook her hand. "John. This is Dean. That Joel?" She nodded. They looked each other's sons over. Dean was the slightly taller of the two, but Joel had considerably more muscle mass. There was a lengthy moment of silence. "Umm, well, I've heard a lot about Dean. Joel seems to think the world of him." John nodded, and kept his snort to himself. "Guess so. Heard a little about Joel, too." More silence, then she continued, "Joel would like to visit with Dean sometimes. They only have the one class in school together, and the rules about socializing with omegas are so strict, anyway, from what I've gathered. Something to do with those forms we fill out when they present, I don't really know the details. But Joel wants a chance to get to know your son. Mr. Hughes explained that you're very protective of him, so I wanted to clear that with you, let you know that I would NEVER let them put themselves in a compromising position. Our whole families could visit, if that would be more comfortable. I was thinking maybe a barbeque at the park this weekend, or something. Or whatever you're comfortable with." They looked over at their sons, who were staring at each other, Joel smiling and saying something so quietly that none but Dean could hear. John cleared his throat. "Well, I appreciate the offer. But we can't. We're gonna be moving this weekend." Joel's eyes jumped over to John's face, appalled. His mom seemed startled, too. "OH! Well. That's... OK." John offered more information. "But even if we weren't, I'm not comfortable letting Dean around alphas, not until he's older. I've been told your boy's a good one, responsible, but still. Kids and hormones, you know? And with alphas and omegas, the consequences of a lapse in judgement could be more severe than with beta kids. I hope you don't take that personally, or as an insult to your son. It's just me protecting MY son." Joel's mom nodded slowly. "No, I don't take it personally. I'd probably be the same if Joel were the omega." She sighed. "It's been a week, the craziest week of our lives. I'd only ever HEARD of alphas and omegas, and now Joel here IS one! I've read so much, but I still don't really know what to do. And he comes home so happy about an omega at school, and I'm the over-indulgent mama that tries to give him whatever he wants..." She laughed weakly. "I'm sorry. I hope YOU don't take it personally, or feel that we've been out of line." John smiled a genuine smile at her. "No, I don't. I've actually met quite a few alphas and omegas over the years. I've only just met yours, but he seems like he might be one of the better ones out there. You're doing a good job." Joel's mom dimpled at the praise. "Well, thank you. I wish you all the best, wherever you move to." She put a hand on Joel's back and led him out.

In the car, John took stock of Dean's silence. "You're not happy." Dean shrugged. John was thinking. "Did you want him?" Dean looked out the window. "No. Not really. But I figured maybe... Maybe he's not a TOTAL douche, even if he is an alpha. Like..." He paused, glanced at his dad, then back out the window. "Maybe he'd be alright as a friend? Not a mate. Just... somebody to hang with." Silence reigned a moment. "Platonic's hard to do. Hard enough for beta men and women, that much harder for an alpha and an omega. Lot to get in the way of that." Dean twisted his ring. "Yeah. I know. Just a thought." John nodded. "Lotta things would be good, in a perfect world. Only this one isn't." Dean nodded. John looked at him. "I don't know him from a hole in the wall, only saw him just a moment. So I can't be sure. But if I had to guess, he ain't a dangerous one. Don't think he'll turn. Seems like he's got a good mama looking after him. Good school folks. He might turn out alright." Dean just nodded, as they turned in to the middle school.

The next day, for reasons he didn't want to look into, Dean didn't wear the cologne, though he DID use the spray deodorant. He had a note on his desk almost the moment he sat down.

\--Did you know you were gonna be moving? Why? Is it because of me? Joel--

\--We move a lot. Every few weeks or so. We never stay anywhere long. Dean--

\--I wish I had known that! I really wish you weren't moving. I will miss you like crazy. Joel--

Dean stared at the note. Fuck. He really and honestly didn't want Joel the way Joel wanted him, but now he was realizing that, in a way, he WOULD miss him. He didn't want him for a mate, but he would miss having a note-buddy. (Seriously, this was the only way he could cuss at school!) And the barbeque-in-the-park thing mighta been cool, with his dad there to keep him safe. He realized that Joel could have been a friend. That Joel WAS a friend.

\--Might almost miss your annoying ass, too. But you'll be alright. 'Cause I was serious about Amanda. She seriously thinks you're to drool for. Even said your red eyes are sexy. You could TOTALLY bang that, easy. Wouldn't be hard at all. Bet she could take a knot, no problem. Dean--

\--Exactly. Amanda's easy. I don't want that. I wanted you to be the first to take my knot. Joel--

\--Dude, quit writing shit like that! You've already got me fucking horny as hell, what are you trying to do to me? Stop that! Dean--

\--OK. Since you stopped something for me. The cologne. I really appreciate that, Dean. It's nice to smell you clearly before you leave. Joel--

\--How much CAN you smell me? I'm only wearing, like, two cups of spray deodorant all over. Dean--

\--I could smell you even through all the cologne, but I had to deal with that too and I didn't like it. Your scent is amazing Dean. It's so gorgeous. I wonder why I can't smell you from further away? Joel--

\--Who knows. (Dean wasn't going to tell him THAT!) You know, you smell pretty good, yourself. Dean--

\--Thank you. You are the best smell I've ever smelled, but what is the weird stink you always have, too? I don't think it's part of you. It's something on you like maybe you stepped in something. Joel--

Dean wasn't going to tell him that, either!  
\--Probably my shoes. My dad treats 'em with something. Dean--

\--You should ask him to stop or find something else to use. It's terrible. If your real smell wasn't so good, I'd want to run away from you. It's that bad. Doesn't it bother you? Joel--

\--Guess I'm just used to it. Sorry. Dean--

\--So where are you moving? Joel--

\--I dunno. Wherever my dad's next job is. Dean-- (That was true. Dean didn't yet know.)

\--Earth Science will be so boring without you. Joel-- (THAT note took about ten minutes to get to him. When it did, it was signed by every kid in the class!)

Dean stared at it, blinked away an unexpected tear.  
\--You know, you're the first alpha I've ever met. Well, except for these two old dudes that worked with my dad when I was little. Dean--

\--You are the only omega I've ever met. Joel--

\--You'll meet another one. I think there's a few thousand of us floating around America. Dean--

\--Yes. I read that. But they won't be you. Joel--

Dean paused a moment before responding.  
\--You know, maybe your omega won't have it as bad as I thought. You'll be a great alpha for somebody. Just gotta work on not scaring 'em off at first. Dean--

\--I know you will be a great omega for someone. They'll be very lucky to have a mate like you. Joel--

\--Seriously, though. Work on not scaring people. I 'bout pissed myself, you staring like a creeper. Dean-- (He heard snickers as the note went around the room. Whatever.)

\--I will work on it. When you go, we should be penpals. This is my address: #### Something Road, Town, Delaware #####. Joel--

\--You're not still trying, are you? Never heard about the dismal success rates for long-distance relationships? Dean--

\--Just write to me Dean. It's OK if it takes you a long time to do what you're asked. Joel--

\--You presumptuous fucker. Just for that, I'm writing you soon as I get there. Wherever it is. Dean--

\--Thank you. I will write back. Joel-- (That note also took several minutes to reach him. When it did, there was an attached note, ALSO signed by everyone in class, saying: And we're ALL gonna read it!)

\--What the fuck? Invasion of privacy. Maybe Joel doesn't want people reading his shit. You want people reading your shit, Joel? Dean--

\--I will tell people what I think they ought to know. Joel-- (Attached note read: Joel will submit to the will of the people! Democracy!)

\--That doesn't sound right. There's gotta be another word for that. Fucking chaos-ocracy, or something. 'Sides, y'all need to watch out. Joel's one badass mother-fucker. A big, strong alpha that took two years of karate. He's like, a pink belt, or something. Dean--

And then the bell rang. For the first time all week, Dean got up slowly. He stared across the room at Joel, who stared right back. A minute went by, and the teacher started walking over to Joel. He waved at Dean, hollered, "Write me, Dean!" Dean swallowed, hollered back. "Yeah! I will!" And walked out, to go jerk off in the staff bathroom before fourth period, for the last time.


	20. In The Interim

Dean and Joel wound up keeping up a reasonably steady correspondance through the years. John had been more than a little concerned at first, but after hearing Dean out and seeing how much it meant to him, John allowed it. It bothered him, the idea of an alpha knowing their whereabouts, but he realized that with as much as they moved, this Joel kid would have a hard time tracking them down. Not that John really thought that he would, or that his parents would allow it. He was still a kid in school, after all. It unsettled John's nerves, but having a penpal seemed to make Dean happy. Still, John insisted on reading each letter himself, both those going out and coming in!

Sam was kinda jealous. He had tried writing back and forth with friends from previous schools before, too, but none of the kids he'd tried it with had kept up their end of it, and it had always petered out after just a few letters, most all of which had been written by Sam. That Dean had a penpal that would actually respond quickly to each and every letter he wrote was something to covet! Dean mentioned it once to Joel, and afterwards Joel always added a greeting to Sam at the end of each letter. He DID have a thing for politeness...

Joel got to read about Dean's adventures on the road: the hailstorm driving through Nebraska, the amazing mountaintop burger joint in Denver, the mammoth roach that woke Dean up crawling over his arm one night at a Budget Inn in Virginia. Dean, in turn, got to read about Joel's life: his uncle teaching him to play the bass guitar, his wisdom teeth coming in, and the day Janine slapped him silly when he impulsively leaned over to sniff her neck, and then slapped him again when he tried to explain why. (She always smells the best three days before she starts her period, but she got mad when I said so. I don't think she likes that I know when that happens. But I can smell it!) But no news made Dean as happy as hearing that Joel had found his true mate.

Joel had actually met another omega at school since Dean had left, one that had presented just a few weeks later, but she was unavailable to him, even if he had really wanted her. She was an immigrant, and her parents intended to mate her to an alpha from their homeland. (Arranged matings were still a thing? Who knew?) But then there had been an away football game a few towns over. Joel wasn't particularly interested in football, but had gone with some friends at their urging. After their team lost spectacularly, (0 to 42) they had stopped somewhere for chili dogs before driving home. Joel described walking in and smelling something so fabulous it made his head swim, a smell that he instantly knew was HIS, that he simply HAD TO HAVE. An omega. But not just any omega. HIS omega! Joel hadn't been able to eat a thing, he'd been too excited, too aroused, too wild to find her. He had spent just about the entire time there spinning his head around, sniffing frantically, trying to figure out where that glorious smell was coming from. His friends had expressed concern, saying that his iris rings were larger than usual. He finally wound up getting out of his seat and following the scent trail into the back of the kitchen, where the dishwasher was being bawled out by the manager for dropping things. She had smelled him, too, but had tried to stay at her post, and was so distracted she almost seemed drunk. Joel had marched straight up between her and the manager, told him plainly that NO ONE was going to yell at his omega that way, and then introduced himself to her. 

Over time, Dean read all about the nightly phone calls, Joel's frequent trips to that restaurant, their parents' meeting, the family dinners, and how they had been each other's dates at BOTH their proms, at each school. After almost two years, though, nature had refused to be denied any longer. Joel, then with a used car and a driver's licence, had met her at her workplace to pick her up early, nearly an hour before her shift ended and her parents came to get her. Joel had driven out to a park near the river, and they had mated, right there in his car.

\--Our parents were SO mad. I knew I probably should have waited, Dean, but we were going crazy. I felt jittery being away from her for more than a few days. Everything would make me angry if I couldn't talk to her one night. No one else smelled or even looked good anymore. Our grades were going down because we couldn't focus on school. She said her heats were hurting her more, since she knew I was out there, but I couldn't help her. And everything else I wrote to you about. So we just did it. We felt like we would just die if we didn't mate soon. Her dad was so mad, I thought we might get into a fight. But it was worth it, Dean, because she's mine, now. She smells better than ever, because now she smells like me. She's got my mark on her neck. And now they can't keep her from me, because they know she'll get sick. Well, my mom knew that. Her parents didn't, but the doctor told them when they took her after we mated. So now we take turns staying at each other's houses. I stay with her and her parents for a week or two, and then she stays with me and mine for a week or two. It's the best thing in the whole world, Dean. When you wake up and your mate is right there beside you, and you know you'll be together forever, it's the best feeling in the whole world.--

Dean was happy for his friend. While he hadn't really wanted Joel, (sexy as he'd smelled) he was sure that Joel would be a terrific alpha for that girl. He wasn't really jealous, but he did wonder...

\--I would not have regretted it if I had mated you, Dean. You would really have been a wonderful omega. But I am glad now that we did not mate. I really wanted you, but now that I've met Danielle, no one else can compare to her. She is beautiful and the nicest, kindest girl ever. I still remember how good you smelled, but you never smelled like you were mine the way she does. You smelled sweet and sexy, but she smells like heaven. You were right to keep telling me to fuck off and leave you alone. You are a great penpal, but Danielle is my true mate. She is the omega I belong with. I hope that you find a mate to make you as happy as I am.--

It took Dean a long time to fall asleep that night, the night after he got that letter. John had been thrilled, relieved to have final, written confirmation that Joel would not be a threat to Dean, that he wasn't going to turn into a legal adult and then come stalk Dean down in the night, like Azazel had Mary. But how did Dean feel? He was truly happy for Joel. In spite of Joel's penchant for telling people what to do, he was a great guy, the kind of guy that Dean really felt deserved some happiness. But now Dean wondered if he would ever experience anything like that. Did he have a 'true mate' out there? It was said that all alphas and omegas did, but did he really? Joel did. Maybe he did, too. Who was it? It was an alpha, obviously. But who? What would they be like? Would Dean ever even meet them? It was just chance (or fate, or luck, or whatever you wanted to call it) that Joel had met his. He'd just HAPPENED to walk into a place that sold chili dogs, and smelt her. What if he hadn't gone to that ball game? What if they'd gone somewhere else to eat afterwards? What if he hadn't traced her scent back to the kitchen? The odds of 'true mates' actually meeting were slim. Joel and Danielle were a very lucky couple. Would Dean ever be that lucky? It was hard to imagine, and he was enjoying all the random girls in the meantime. But Dean kind of really hoped that he would.

Not that Dean let it worry him any, or slow him down. In spite of the occasional contemplative night, Dean generally tended to live very much in the present. He had too much going on, to much to get into, to many mountains to climb and conquer to stew over an ill-defined future that may or may not ever happen. Dean was not a worry-wart. Nope! He was too busy with LIFE. He had pie to eat, guns to shoot, skirts to chase, and two little brothers to mess with, boss around, and be proud of. AND he had the Impala to drive!

Joel wasn't the only one that had gotten their driver's permit! As soon as he'd turned fifteen, Dean had BEGGED John to teach him. And John had been pleasantly surprised at how easy it was. For all the horror stories he had heard from other parents about the nightmare that teaching a kid to drive was supposed to be, teaching Dean was a walk in the park. The kid had practically grown up in a car. Dean had watched him so closely for so many years, and was so eager, so motivated, and so already-familiar with the vehicle, that John really only needed to help Dean figure out a few little technical things, and let him practice some.

The first time he'd let Dean behind the wheel had been in a very, very small town somewhere in southern Oklahoma, somewhere with straight roads, and almost no trees to crash into. With only minimal guidance, and a few reminders to use his turn signals and brake GENTLY, Dean had made a twelve-mile circuit around the town and then down its Main Street. And he'd done well - very well! Sam had been highly impressed. He'd asked if he could try it, too, but John had immediately informed him that he'd have to wait a few years. Dean? Dean had just grinned up a storm, happy as a lark, and so proud of himself! In celebration of Dean's first successful spin around town, John had splurged and gotten all three of them Icees/Slurpies/Freezies. (He didn't remember which. The same concoction was called different things in different places. Could have been any of the above.) Dean got his permit, and over the next few months, John let Dean practice more and more often, in more and more difficult settings. When Dean finally took his actual driving test for his licence, he aced it with flying colors. Absolutely the ONLY thing that prevented him from getting a perfect score was when he held up traffic at a light for a moment, because he was fiddling with the radio. John had wanted to know why he'd had the radio on during the test, at all. "'Cause! They wanna see how you do in real-life situations, right? And in real-life, the radio's on..." John just shook his head.

Dean driving was a good thing, though. It meant that on 2,000-mile cross-country trips, they could make it in almost half the time, since John and Dean could switch off, and John could get some sleep in without stopping at a motel - thus saving them money, too. A couple times, John even sat in the back with Sam, trying to figure out how to play some pencil-and-paper game with him that involved connecting dots to make squares. Sam always won. Dean said he suspected that it might have something to do with who went first, but John went first the next go-round, and Sam still won. Dean said not to worry, that everybody knew Sam was a cheater. Sam was just about to flick him in the head for that, when John grabbed his wrist. "Nuh, uh. Don't mess with the driver." Sam looked down, and John smiled and reminded him that he could just wait and pester Dean all he pleased when they got where they were going and got a room! Dean's smug smirk fell off his face. "Wait. Dad, he's gonna take that as permission to get me back somehow!" John just shrugged and smiled at Sam. "And...?" Sam laughed.

Probably the highlight of Dean's driving career, though, was the first time he drove to Windom, Minnesota. John wouldn't let him drive anywhere NEAR there until he actually had his full licence, and not just his permit - and had it for a while. No way was John going to risk letting him crash with Adam in the car, or even crash on the way TO Adam. Last thing he needed was for Kate to somehow get word and think they were irresponsible, and not let him take Adam anymore. He may have been Adam's father, but with no father listed on the birth certificate, John wasn't LEGALLY anything. And it had been too long since the birth for him to try and push for parental rights, now. Everything hung on Kate's continuing good opinion of him, as to whether he would be able to continue seeing the boy. And Dean wasn't going to mess that up!

So when John finally let Dean drive to Kate's house, Dean knew it was something special, like a reward for passing a test, or something. Almost-six Adam was amazed. "You drove the CAR? Wow! Is it hard?" Dean laughed. "Nope! Smooth sailing. That's the best-driving car in the whole world. Plus, Dad taught me. And you know he's a good teacher!" "Whoa. That's so cool. Dad, can I learn to drive it, too? When I'm big like Dean?" John smiled. "Sure, Adam. You get big like Dean, and we'll talk about it, then." Kate, of course, was nervous about letting Adam ride with them, with Dean in the driver's seat, but John talked her down. "He's had his licence for eight months , already. Hasn't had an accident, one, not even almost. A better driver than most twice his age. I wouldn't let him if I didn't think it was a good idea. Adam's safety means something to me, too." Adam turned to Sam. "Are you gonna drive, too?" Sam shook his head. "Not yet. But here in a few years, I will!" Adam was so excited. "Then we'll ALL drive! We'll take turns!" 

It was a busy couple years. So much kept happening, always another thing. Like the sudden growth spurt both John's older boys decided to have at the same time. John had always tried to be cautious with the clothing budget, but all that went out the window for about half a year, as he had to buy them both new pants every other month. Shirts they could (thankfully!) make last a little longer. Of course, the pants were never actually NEW, and Sam used Dean's hand-me-downs when he could, but John still winced at the money disappearing on denim, there for a while.

Adam had started school, of course. And apparently loved it and did very well, much the way Sam did. But also had a habit of speaking freely, running his mouth, and getting in trouble, much the way Dean did. When John called Kate one week, he was VERY familiar with that particular frustrated tone. "Do you have ANY idea what your son said at school?!" Oh. Must've been bad, if Adam was HIS son, now. "No, don't guess I do..." "A whole list of things! The teacher requested a conference this afternoon. Apparently, Adam has begun to make a habit of using certain four-and-five letter words. WHERE DID HE LEARN TERMS LIKE THOSE, JOHN?" Oh, John was gonna have to have a talk with Sam and Dean... "Also, the teacher was very concerned about his fascination with guns and knives, and the fact that he was correcting the way other little boys were holding their sticks during a pretend 'battle' during recess. I know you said your other boys are learning weapon stuff, but Adam doesn't need to hear about all that!" Well, at least she wasn't yet aware of just how much 'weapon stuff' Adam, himself, was already learning. He had started him on REAL guns at six, same as his other two. "John, I asked him about his language, and he told me that 'bitch' was a nice word, something you call people you like if they annoy you! Again, John, WHERE IS HE GETTING THIS?" Yep, Sam and Dean were gonna hear it, just as soon as he hung up the phone...! 

There was a scare, just before Dean turned seventeen. Dean met another alpha, at a school in Oregon. This one was no Joel, though. He was still too young to tell whether he would need to be put down someday, but whether or not he was a truly dangerous menace, he was just a nasty... expletive. He really made Dean ashamed of his body's response to him. He was BEYOND rude and inappropriate, to EVERYBODY, shoving past people in the hallways, stealing people's pencils right out of their hands, always grabbing his crotch and waggling it at people. After a couple days of following Dean around, leering suggestively at him, he actually managed to avoid supervision just long enough to sneak up on Dean, before Dean's panicked shouts brought four teachers and the security officer running. Dean was freaked out, and pissed. But he needn't have bothered with pissed, because John was pissed enough for both of them. Both the boys' parents had been called immediately, and John was LIVID! The entire school heard the shouting from the office, as John laid into that poor principal, told him exactly what he thought of them and their care of his boy! It was a very good thing that security had escorted the alpha into a different room elsewhere. John might not have been able to restrain himself from taking it out of the kid's neck, had he seen him! John pulled Dean out of that school for almost the entire remainder of their stay in the area, kept him at work with him until the day of the hunt. He then let Dean drive to the school, and walked in with him to the principal's office, where he made it as clear as it was possible to make it that if anything else happened like what had, THERE WOULD BE HELL TO PAY. He'd have their jobs, if he couldn't have their heads! The principal nodded nervously, obviously intimidated by John. Dean had never known such a school day. The teachers acted like they were scared of him! They escorted him to each of his classes, insisted he sit right in front. No one could so much as look at him too long, without being redirected. Dean couldn't decide whether it was funny, or irritating. He finally decided on funny. It was his last day there, might as well sit back and smile!


	21. Milestones

Actually, Dean had been very highly and profoundly disturbed by the incident with the alpha in Oregon, but he forced himself to get over it quickly. The encounter had hardly lasted but a moment or two, the teachers and his dad had all showed up and taken care of it, and there really wasn't anything he could do about it after the fact, anyway. Dean was always perturbed by situations he didn't have a good grip on, that he couldn't control. So after the inital calming down, Dean went the route that seemed easiest and least painful to him - he ignored it. He pretended like it had just simply never happened. Like smelling the guy get closer and closer before turning around to find the nasty creep IN HIS FACE and putting hands on him hadn't scared him worse than just about anything else ever had. (And it was humiliating, being terrified of some kid more than a year and a half younger than him!) Meeting Joel after he'd presented alpha had surprised Dean, made him a little nervous. But THIS guy? Had just made him sick. He didn't quite smell 'off' like the ones Dean sometimes smelt on John, but it was the way the guy had LOOKED at him. Like a wild dog at a piece of meat he was about to snatch and eat. And the asshole put his hands on him! No. Uh, uh. Nope. NOT okay. Back at the motel, Dean had gone straight for the shower, staying in there over 45 minutes, using ALL the hot water and an entire bar of soap, just scrubbing his skin away where he could still feel the creep's hands. John let him, said nothing to him. Dean had come out and flopped down on one of the beds, still shaking. John and Sam had just laid down with him and curled up around him, Dean clenching his dad's shirt with his nose pushed in John's neck for hours. Eventually, John sat up and called for dinner to be delivered. He had worried, watching Dean pick slowly at his food. Even dessert received only a lukewarm reception. Sam stayed pasted to Dean's side all evening, the two sniffing deeply of each other every few minutes. But by the next morning, Dean certainly SEEMED to have recovered completely, and then some!

JOHN didn't get over it so quickly, though. It was entirely too close for comfort, especially now that they had seen just how ineffective 'salt' actually was as a real deterrent. No, alphas certainly didn't like the smell, and John had watched more than one alpha actually walk ten or more feet out of their way just to avoid it when it was spread on the ground. But apparently their dislike of the stuff had nothing on an omega's appeal! He had heard from Dean what Joel had said about 'the weird stink', and the little punk in Oregon had stormed right up to Dean, even though Dean's pockets and shoes were lined with it. And that frightened John. He had relied on the stuff to help protect his sons, but it didn't seem to do much good at all. He had called Bobby that night, put the alpha boy's name on the hunters' list of alphas 'to watch'. At fifteen, the kid was too young to even think about hunting, had probably only just recently presented. But if he was behaving that way already, it might not be long. Of course, if the kid DID need taking out some day, it wouldn't be John sent to do it. Hunting wasn't supposed to work that way, it wasn't SUPPOSED to be about personal vengeance. Someone trying to get revenge was not only doing it for the wrong reasons, but they were more likely to make mistakes and be caught, more likely to let their emotions get in the way and bungle it. But if it came to that, John would remember - and he wouldn't hesitate to loan whatever was needed to whoever DID get the job, and buy them a beer when it was done!

John had brought Dean to work with him for over a week, and was relieved to see how well Dean took that. He'd been concerned that the change in routine might be stressful for him, but Dean was glad to be away from a place that no longer seemed safe, and happy to spend more time around his dad. He liked cars, and watched the work being done with interest, obviously wishing he could help, too. Dean was actually a little put-out that he'd had to go back the day of the hunt. John hadn't wanted to send him back, but he certainly couldn't take Dean with him, and SOMEBODY had to watch him. John had felt something shift inside when he'd dropped him off and walked out. He'd quickly grown used to having Dean with him all the time...

So it was with new and real attention that John actually listened, when Dean began moaning during the ride to their next stop about having to start up at another school. "Ugh. Wish I didn't even have to go. Stupid. Rather just keep going to work with you..." The wheels began turning in John's head. John wasn't overly glad to send Dean to school, either, after such a scare, and Dean? Dean had never cared much for school, anyway. The boy usually did only the bare minimum necessary to JUST squeak by and pass - and sometimes DIDN'T bother passing a class or two, that last year. He had the brains for it, John knew, but not the temperament. Dean just didn't like sitting there, didn't like fooling with books and papers when he could be doing something with his hands, didn't like being cooped up and forced to listen to boring lectures and teachers droning on about their expectations for work he didn't wanna do, anyway. Dean just didn't like school. John had known that for years, since the day he'd enrolled the kid in Kindergarten, but now John was seeing his own good reasons for Dean to be done with it.

Dean attended four more high schools in quick succession, John paying closer attention than ever before to Dean's academic endeavors. No more alphas were met up with, but Dean continued to have difficulties of various sorts. He continued to be distracted by all the young females, continued provoking other boys, continued running his mouth and getting into trouble every few days. And his grades continued to plummet. Dean had never really been all that concerned with them in the first place, but somewhere along the line that last year he had just stopped caring, altogether. Even John making Dean's driving privileges contingent upon homework completion was barely a help. Technically, Dean DID his homework, but writing down randomness where thoughtful answers should go wasn't really that much of an improvement over not doing it at all! By the end of the semester, Dean had failed five of six classes. School had become just a free daycare for John to drop Dean off at while he was at work. So when Dean started complaining about repeating the year again during the drive from Vermont to Georgia, John ever-so-casually turned down the radio and suggested the possibility of Dean maybe NOT going back to school.

Dean was dumbfounded. "Uh. Really?" John nodded. "Really. You keep saying you don't wanna go back, would rather go to work with me. So maybe you'd rather work a real job, than do schoolwork?" Dean was torn: He very much so wanted to shout "YES!", but wasn't yet convinced that this wasn't a trick question! He'd been complaining, yeah, but he was supposed to go to school, right? Was where Dad always sent him, before. He thought Dad wanted him in school? "Umm. I did like going to work with you in Oregon..." He hesitated to say much more. He was waiting for his complaints to be frowned on. But John smiled. "And I liked you there, too." Dean nodded, waiting. Sam sat confused in the backseat. "But... Dean HAS to go to school, right? I mean, that's what we do, what everybody has to do..." John looked first in his rearview mirror, then back at Dean. "You're sixteen, Dean. Almost seventeen, now. Plenty old enough to make a decision about dropping out - IF you want to. I'm certainly not telling you to. Probably my job as a parent to try and encourage school, but... if it's really not been working for you, anyway..." John had all Dean's attention. "I know you've been getting more tired of it every year, I've been watching. And if you keep going, but not doing any better than what you have been this last year, it'll be a marvel if you graduate, at all. Probably better you PULL out, 'stead of FLUNK out. Not waste time." Some kids might have gotten offended, perceived an insult in that. Dean just looked like he was listening. Intently. So John went on. "And after what happened in Oregon, I now wonder if you might not be safer OUT of school. Even if you're not always with me, at least outside of a school setting you can carry weapons on you. A knife, at the very least. At school I've got to rely on the staff to protect you, and I'm less than thrilled at how well that turned out. Most of your schools have been great, but I can't count on them all to be. So you dropping out... doesn't sound like a completely terrible idea to me." Dean grinned and nodded, totally on-board with the idea. "Yeah. Yeah, Dad, sounds good. Let's do that." It was Sam in the back that voiced concern. "Wait! I mean, are you SURE? Dad said you didn't have to. And you're USUALLY safe at school. Maybe Dad can just go yell at people in every new office BEFORE stuff happens, so they remember to prevent it?" Sam had heard the story of the way John had handled it. Office people getting yelled at seemed reasonable enough, but QUITTING SCHOOL???

John went around an old man that insisted on driving 50 MPH on the Interstate. "It's your choice, Dean. If you WANT to keep going to school, you do that. I'd be a sorry excuse for a father if I MADE you quit school. You wanna keep going, I'll yell at everybody I have to, in principal's offices, school administrative district offices, or wherever else I need to yell to keep you safe." He glanced at Dean. "But if you DON'T wanna keep going, I'm fine with that, too." Dean smiled crookedly. "I'm pretty fine with it, too, Dad." Sam in the backseat was getting worried. "But, Dad, what'll he DO if he's not in school? He can't really work in garages with you, can he? Nobody's gonna hire him! What'll he do, just sit around? That'll be so boring, Dean, more boring than school!" Dean looked at his dad. John looked thoughtful. "Well. He certainly won't be fit to be hired much of anywhere if he just drops straight out. You DO need some sort of proof you're trainable. And that's why if Dean really decides to drop out, he'll be spending a few hours a day for a couple weeks at an Adult Education Center." Dean's brow furrowed. "Dad, what's the point of dropping out of school, if I'm just gonna go to a different KIND of school? Seriously..." John was watching the road. "So you can study up for just a short while, get your GED. Shouldn't take you long, you're a smart enough kid. Couple weeks or maybe even less of brushing up on whatever you may have missed or forgotten, and then taking a test - it'll make the difference between you dropping out, and BEING a drop-out. For employment purposes, it'll be exactly the same thing as finishing school." He looked over at Dean. "Is the only alternative I'm giving you, if you wanna quit regular high school. After all, you'll need my signature." Dean thought about it a second. "A couple weeks, instead of a couple more years?" He grinned. "Yes, sir! I can do that!" 

And so the next morning, after registering Sam at his new school, John went with Dean to sign the forms RELEASING him from school. Of course, there was a whole train of people to speak to first, that tried earnestly to counsel them AGAINST pulling out of school, but their minds were made up, by that point. They were given multiple different brochures and handouts about the differences in lifetime earnings between those that did and didn't graduate high school, but John had already thought of that, and was taking care of it by making sure Dean got his GED. The only hitch in the plan was that the person at the local Adult Education Center that conducted GED classes wouldn't be there for a couple months. The rest of the staff, though, were more than happy to help where they could, assuring John and Dean that their library of study materials was open to them, and that anyone there would be glad to go over any specific subjects or skills they were especially concerned about. So they borrowed several books of skill-review and practice tests, and signed up for the real test in three weeks time.

It took a couple days longer than usual to find a job in that town, since now John was searching for a place that would work both him AND Dean under the table. The longer-than-usual delay meant that they wound up nearly exhausting the emergency funds in the trunk before getting paid for the first time, but they were able to replace it quickly, with TWO streams of income. John had originally suggested Dean leaving school for safety reasons, but couldn't deny that he found the doubled cash coming in a huge relief! Of course, he wasn't going to confiscate everything the boy made, (Dean worked for it, after all) but he didn't have to. Dean was actually MORE than glad to chip in, glad to be able to contribute. It was quickly decided that since Dean was the one driving more and more often, Dean would be the one to pay for gas and oil, as well as his own clothes from then on. The more costly expenses would remain John's, like the motel rooms and the 'scent suppressants', as well as everything Sam required. Food they split. They were still careful, still HAD to be. That Dean was also working didn't magically lift them out of poverty, but it DID mean that John didn't have to resort to credit card scams anymore - a lifted burden that let him breathe easier. He went out gambling slightly less often. They didn't have to think about it as long or hard when they wanted an extra snack on the road, and they didn't have to wait until their socks were so thread-bare they were nearly transparent before replacing them, anymore. Just the little things, you know?

The day of the test came up, and Dean was nervous. That he did well on all the practice tests in the books comforted him little. Sam had volunteered to help him study, and they had gone over the borrowed study materials together each evening. Dean had lugged a book to work with him each day, to look at during lunch break. He had never cared for school, but he knew this test was important. He had been sobered quickly when he watched his dad fork over almost $100 the day he signed up to take it. John had looked him dead in the eye in the car afterward, told him that if he fooled around and failed it, he'd be going back to school. And Dean understood that, he did. School was free; this test his dad was letting him take was not. There were no refunds, so it would all be a waste if Dean didn't try to do his best. Not that John was really that worried about it. He knew full-well how bright his sons were, that the only reason Dean had been doing so poorly in school was just because he hadn't felt like putting forth the effort. But dipping so heavily into the emergency funds, even if it was quickly replaced, wasn't something he was going to let Dean take lightly. And making sure his eldest had some type of education completed was important. He was taking a risk, letting his boy drop out of school. He needed Dean to work with him on this one, regardless of the price of the test.

So the day of the test came, and Dean was more than a smidge nervous about it. Despite his dad putting them all to bed early, and telling him to get some rest, he hadn't hardly slept a wink. His dad was counting on him to pass this test. It upset his stomach, to think of letting him down! He was frickin' DETERMINED to go in there and ace this thing, just to prove that he could, and show his dad how wise investing in him was. He could do this! Couldn't he? Sam was sure of it, encouraged him over breakfast. "You'll do great, Dean, I just know it. You totally owned all those practice tests, the real thing can't be that much harder!" Sam was actually kind of jealous. He wanted to go take a national test - not because he wanted to drop out, but just because he thought it sounded like fun, and because he wanted to see how HE'D do. John gave him an unamused LOOK, and Dean just laughed. "Yeah? Well, don't worry. You get to high school, they make you take all those stinking ACTs and SATs. They're kind of like this GED. Sort of. But harder math." Dean sighed. He hadn't even TRIED on those, and had bombed them, royally. He'd do better today, though...

It would take three months to get the results back. John hadn't known exactly how long it would take, but had known it would be a while, so they'd used Bobby's address. In the meanwhile, John had other things he worried about. Like Adam.

Kate had always told him what all the doctor said at each check-up. Because the Milligans didn't move constantly the way the Winchesters did, Adam had been regularly seen by the same pediatrician since birth, allowing that doctor the time to pick up on patterns that might otherwise have gone undiscerned. It had been brought up at several of Adam's last few visits. "She says he's fine, hitting all his developmental milestones, but he's just not developing the STRENGTH she would expect from a kid his size. And she doesn't know why. I don't even know what to say to that anymore, John. I'm feeding him well, and he gets plenty of sleep, plenty of exercise. He's just... weak, compared to other children his age." It had been a recurring theme in John and Kate's weekly phone conversations over the years. It was worrisome, mostly becasue there was no obvious cause. Adam wasn't anemic, didn't have any type of nerve or muscle disorder, wasn't malnourished. Kate swore their little guy was always as active and bouncy as any child she ever saw. He was as happy and healthy a kid as you pleased. He just didn't have any muscle tone to amount to anything, struggled to lift and/or push things that were no problem for other children his age. He was just a weakling, and it concerned John. Why? What was wrong with his boy? Sure, Sam and Dean had been a bit behind their peers in measures of brute strength, but Sam and Dean had a good reason: they were omegas. What was holding Adam back? It wasn't that John expected the little boy to win medals for weightlifting, or anything, but he wished he knew what the problem was, wanted to be SURE nothing was wrong. Kate said even the P.E. teacher at Adam's school had mentioned it. John had never really noticed it when he was with Adam, but he had started watching closer when they went anywhere where there were kids Adam's age. In many ways, Adam was actually AHEAD of most children his age: faster, better fine-motor skills. But as far as pure muscle power went? Yeah. Adam was lacking somewhat...

Dean, of course, passed his GED. Passed with a 3900 out of 4000, actually, which was well above average. John would have been shocked if the boy HADN'T passed, but Dean honestly acted surprised. Sam was elated. "See, Dean? KNEW you could do it!" John, just to show Dean how proud he was, spent a little extra on supper that evening and took them out for cheap steaks, and got a whole pie for dessert. "Graduation present, Dean. Guess you're really done with school, a working man, now. Eat up." He bathed in his boy's smile...

It was around this same time that mobile phones finally became almost-affordable, accessible to more than just the filthy rich, and service for them began to be available outside just the very biggest cities. It was another pull on their already tight budget, but John quickly jumped on that train. A means of communication the boys could carry around in their pockets? A way of dialing himself or 911 from anywhere? John didn't see a luxury item - he saw another valuable tool in his boys' survival kits. Three of those were quickly obtained! John's two teenagers were pleased as punch. Dean grinned, "It's like some kinda sweet James Bond gadget..." Sam snorted. "Or Maxwell Smart." But Sam was just as captivated with his own. John warned them. "For emergencies only, boys. Those aren't toys, the minutes are too expensive. You save 'em for when you NEED them. Don't let me catch you just playing with them. Agents Dip and Doofus." Sam and Dean giggled in spite of themselves, didn't even try to argue their maturity. John rolled his eyes...


	22. Staying IN The Nest

Nearly two years went by like that, John and Dean working, Sam in school. John got Dean in on the same jobs with him whenever he could, to keep an eye on him, but Dean found other work nearby, when he couldn't. Dean wound up doing any number of things: stocking, being a cashier, janitorial work, even telemarketing once. But working on cars remained a favorite, when he could. It wasn't always possible, though. Nowadays, most places really only wanted people that either completed some type of trade school or apprenticeship. Of course, the fact that they were willing to work under the table for slightly less than the usual pay-rate often helped make up for that, as did the fact that John was very experienced and willing to vouch for him, that whatever he didn't yet know, he could learn quickly. But when that line of reasoning failed, Dean just grabbed something else close to wherever his dad was working. Dean gained a lot of varied real-world experience in those jobs. There were plenty of noteworthy mishaps to share with Sam and Joel (who he still wrote regularly), like the soda machine that exploded on him at a fast food joint, the six HUGE moths that flew out of a box of shirts he was putting away at a men's clothing shop, the little kid that screamed bloody murder when the ice cream cone he handed them leaned to the side a little. There were even a couple times that he spotted alphas and omegas - a couple that brought their car into the shop he and his dad were working at in Indiana, a pregnant omega with a toddler at a store in Mississippi where Dean was bagging groceries.

Even though Dean didn't get the chance to speak to them, those omegas were especially fascinating to Dean, just because he'd never met one before, other than Sam, and the dying ones that spent their last months with Pastor Jim. Every few years a hunt would end with a hideously-abused omega, near to death anyway, needing a place to go. A handful of times over the years, John and his boys had arrived in Blue Earth with one of those poor creatures still languishing in one of Jim's guest rooms. After even just a few weeks without their alpha, their smell was strong enough that even betas like Jim and John could detect a hint of unpleasant odor around them. But to fellow omegas Sam and Dean, it was PUTRID, vile enough to make them want to retch. Separated from their alphas, those omegas smelled WRONG, like illness and decay, like death warmed over. Smelling that as small children had frightened Dean and Sam; those dying omegas' glazed, sunken eyes waking them up to harsh reality much more effectively than any lecture John might ever give them. But the two mated omegas that Dean bumped into for the briefest of moments while he was working didn't look or smell anything like that. They were healthy, smelled just fine, even looked happy! They gave Dean hope...

As it got closer and closer to Dean's birthday - his eighteenth birthday - Dean, of course, grew excited. John? Not so much, though he supposed he should've been. After all, an adult could get an actual permit to carry a firearm. An adult would have more and better job opportunities open to them. Dean being a legal adult would be a good thing, right? Then why did it tear John's guts out to think too hard on it...?

They were staying with Bobby when the momentous date arrived, had been for a few weeks. There hadn't been much in the way of hunts or even observations to make for months, so they were enjoying a slow period. John and Dean were working for Bobby in his salvage yard. Even Sam made himself useful, helping balance accounts in the old-school paper ledgers Bobby insisted on using. He wasn't paying them, but that was fine, really, since the man was letting them stay in his house, run up his utilities, and eat his food. Not having to pay for a room meant they didn't NEED as much money coming in, and Bobby was sure he was getting the better end of the deal, since having the Winchesters for a month or two (even with as much as that bunch ate) didn't cost anywhere near what actually paying two/three men for the help would. Cheaper that way! John still went out to hustle and play card shark once or twice a week, just 'cause they had to have SOMETHING coming in. He felt secure about staying out a little longer when he did, knowing that his boys were safe with Bobby, and so managed to make an even better go of it when he did.

It was in that way that John raked in a little over three thousand dollars in less than two months. With no expenses other than Dean's 'scent suppressants', the $50 he sent monthly for Adam, and whatever random few little personal necessities they might require (deodorant, toothpaste, Dean's pads), John had quite the pile going after a while. $200 of it he traded with Bobby for one of the better trucks in the yard. Bobby probably could have gotten a few hundred more for it selling it to someone else, but John was an old friend, and his help with the work was worth a lot more, in Bobby's mind, than whatever the extra food and laundry might be costing him. The two considered it a fair trade. Sam thought it was great, it could haul something big that the Impala couldn't - like the massive homemade well filtering pump that he'd built, and wanted to enter into the junior inventor's competition at the upcoming county fair. Bobby actually thought the boy might have a decent shot at winning. If nothing else, Sam could sell the rights to the thing to somebody interested there...

But Dean was instantly wary. A truck? What'd Dad need with a truck? They had the best car on the planet! Why would Dad want a truck? And hey, how was Dad gonna drive a car and a truck at the same time...? John had a wonderful poker face. "I can't, Dean. Just gonna drive the truck." Dean was suddenly devastated. "But, Dad! If you're driving THAT, what're you gonna do with the Impala? Just leave it sit here at Bobby's? That fucking sucks!" John frowned. "Only reason I'm not popping you is it's your birthday tomorrow. You watch your mouth, Dean." Dean jumped up and started pacing, getting loud. "But why? There's nothing wrong with the Impala! Is there? 'Tween the three of us, you know we can fix it, if there is!" Bobby smirked knowingly at John, who maintained his placid composure. "We'll see. Got a birthday to worry with tomorrow first, anyway. Right?" Dean sat down with a huff. "Yeah..."

The next morning, Dean woke up to Sam sprinkling little paper-shreds on top of him like confetti, or something. "Happy birthday, Dean!" Dean shoved Sam off, rolled back over. He couldn't fall back asleep, though, 'cause Sam decided to start bouncing on his guts. "Wake up, man! You're an ADULT, now. Get up and do adult stuff, already! Bobby's making these gigantic pancakes for ya..." Dean pushed Sam off the bed. "What, adult stuff like kicking your ass?" But there was no heat behind the words, and he was already up and stretching. Sam hopped up off the floor, grinning at him. "I'll go tell Dad and Bobby you're up." Dean grunted and went to the bathroom. When he came out and walked downstairs, everyone was sitting at the table waiting on him, a stack of the biggest pancakes he'd ever seen in front of an empty chair, so big they were hanging off the plate. "Wow..." Bobby grunted, but smiled. "Yeah. Wow. Sit yer ass down and eat, boy. Don't let 'em get cold..." Dean looked at his dad, who was ALL smile. "Uh, thanks. Morning." John shoved a glass of orange juice at him. "Morning. Happy birthday, son." Dean grinned, sat down, and dug in. Sam looked so excited, you'd think it was HIS birthday. They finished up, and Sam helped Bobby with the dishes before John herded them out the door for a run - because morning runs were an always thing, birthday or no. 

After they got back and took showers, they found Bobby settled in the living room, expectant, like he was waiting for something. John sat down, motioned Dean to do the same. Sam sat, too, just because. "Well. Grown man, now, Dean. Feel any different?" Dean shrugged. "Not really...?" John smiled gently. "Well, you oughta. 'Cause you ARE different. Legal adult, now, Dean." Dean nodded. He could feel the lecture coming. He could tell he wasn't in trouble, but he could feel the seriousness in the air. "Guess so." John looked at him. "Guess I need to know what you're gonna do, now." He paused. "I don't have any legal leg to stand on, to stop you from doing anything, anymore. You're not a kid anymore, not in the eyes of the law. You're free to do pretty much what you will." Another pause. "You're still MY kid, though. So if you plan on going anywhere or doing anything, I'd appreciate the courtesy of you letting me know. I don't want to have to worry about you, don't want to wonder." He cleared his throat. "I still want to keep you safe. I hope you'll let me." Dean shifted. "Yes, sir. I guess. I mean, I don't know. I... I haven't even thought about it." John sighed. "You're still an omega, Dean. It's still a dangerous world out there for you." He swallowed. "I can't force you to obey me, anymore. But I hope you'll still have sense enough to listen to your old man's advice, at least sometimes." Dean stared. John went on. "Just want to make sure you know I'm still your dad. You're welcome to stick with me long as you want to. Keeping you, Sam, and Adam safe will always be my top priority." Dean nodded. "Yes, sir." John nodded, too, went on. "But if you stick with me, I'm still in charge. I'll respect that you're an adult, but you'll respect that I'm still the commanding officer, here. Right up until the day you decide to take off and do it all on your own." He looked questioningly at Dean. Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I... Yes, sir." He shook his head. "I don't think I'm going anywhere, Dad. Not yet. I'll just stay with you and Sammy, keep doing like we've been doing? Right?" John smiled. "Right." Bobby interrupted. "And your daddy knows, I've done told him, that if you ever want a permanent job, you've got one waitin' on ya right here. Job and a room, both. Anytime. Hell, I'd even pay ya." Dean smiled. "Thanks, Bobby. Think I'ma stay with Dad, though." There followed one really LONG, awkward pause. Dean stood up. "So, uh, we gonna go work on cars, now, or we just gonna drag this chick-flick moment out all damn day?" John frowned. "Language. Even if it IS your birthday." Dean objected. "HEY! Thought I was an adult, now? Adults can cuss!" John squinted at him. "Adults can watch it, too." Sam laughed. Bobby snorted. "Well, John? You gonna do it, or not?" Dean turned. "Do what?" John stood up. "Come on, boys. We're headed to the courthouse. Make sure you got your ID on you, Dean." Dean smirked. Of COURSE he'd have his ID on him. Always did, any time there was a chance he could get to drive!

Sam and Dean followed him out to the Impala as Bobby walked to his truck, Dean asking, "So what's at the courthouse? Info for a hunt?" Sam grinned like he knew something, but Dean paid no mind. Sam was always getting excited about weird shit. John smiled. "Something." Dean smiled, too, and just hopped in the passenger side. Was probably boring legal paperwork about something he didn't give a rat's ass about, anyway. Who cared? It was his birthday, so he popped a tape in and cranked it up as loud as he figured his dad would tolerate, and stuck his head out the window. He was totally gonna get 'em to take him to the High Winds Buffet for supper. They had 13 different kinds of pie! Oh, yeah. Was gonna be a good day...

At the courthouse, he watched his dad pull an envelope and some papers out of the glovebox. (Why'd they call it a glovebox, anyway? Like, who really keeps gloves in there? More like, random-important-shit box.) Sam and Dean walked in behind John, followed by Bobby, and they headed straight for the Deeds/Titles counter. Dean wasn't really paying much attention, too busy eying the plunging neckline of the long-legged woman in the next line's blouse, until he heard his dad talking to the clerk. "Like to change the name on this title, please." Whoa. What? His head swivelled around, fast. "Dad? Wha-" John motioned a hand to shut him up, then waved him forward. "Got your ID?" Dean nodded. "Alright, then, give it to the lady." He turned back to the older woman behind the glass. "Giving it to my boy, here. Wanna change it, put it in HIS name." She chirped away, asking all sorts of questions, while Dean stood there stupidly, staring at his dad. He suddenly realized what all that stuff was that John had brought in. The paperwork for the Impala! The title, the registration, the receipts for the last few stickers they'd bought for the tag. Even the original receipt from the used car lot he'd bought it from all those years ago. Everything John had that would prove his ownership of the car, just in case there were any questions, due to the variety of addresses on different forms. Dean swallowed, suddenly making sense of it all, and feeling like a massive ass for jumping his dad's case about the truck...

He handed over his driver's licence on auto-pilot, signed his name where the woman told him to. Clutched the forms he was handed. He looked to Sam, who grinned and elbowed him. "Guess you can drive ALL the time, now, dude." He didn't respond, just stood there as his dad and Bobby switched the truck from Bobby's to John's name. When they got done, they turned around and looked at Dean. Bobby smiled. "Think you broke him, John. Mite too much?" John grinned and slapped Dean on the back. "Nah." They walked outside, where the fresh air and HIS IMPALA sitting there suddenly pulled Dean out of it. "Dad..." John turned to look at him. "Yeah?" Dean waffled just a moment, before throwing his arms around him for a second. "Thanks." John laughed and gave him a squeeze. "Happy birthday, kiddo. You just take good care of it for me, alright? Been a good car..." Dean grinned and nodded. "Oh, you know it! Gonna take care of that car just like it's my BABY!" John smirked at him. "Hmm. We'll see. But how's about early lunch, boys? Maybe we can find someplace that'll stick a candle in a cheeseburger for us..." Sam butted in with, "And ice cream for dessert! I've got a few bucks, my treat, Dean. Be MY present!"

And a few hours later, he got a phone call from Adam, who was MAJORLY excited that his big brother Dean was a 'grown-up', now! Oh, yeah. Dean had KNOWN it would be a good day. And they hadn't even hit the buffet, yet!


	23. Sam, Too!

It was a Sunday. An unusual day for a hunt, but John worked whenever it was most convenient, and the sick alpha he was after went to work every other day of the week. Dean was supposed to be working, too, but had taken the day off to stay with Sam, who even at almost fifteen John still insisted NOT be left alone. They had gone through all their normal morning rituals - run, showers, breakfast - exactly the way they always did. Then, like every other morning before a hunt, John had given them the relevant details of what and where, before taking some time just to sit there with them for a short while, trying to memorize their faces and the weight of them leaning on him before he took off.

It was only about half an hour after John left that the first hint of what was happening manifested itself - with Dean flopped down on the bed playing with a rubber band, beside Sam who was doing the crossword puzzle from the newspaper. Dean turned toward his little brother, a puzzled look on his face. He leaned over to sniff. "Damn, dude. You smell weird." Sam sighed and pushed Dean off. "Yeah, and you ARE weird. What else is new?" Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder to smell some more. "No, I'm serious. You really smell weird." Sam wriggled out of Dean's grasp. "What do you mean, weird? Like what?" Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Just weird. You smell like 'Sam', just... different. I don't know. Weird." Sam rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his puzzle, but a few minutes later, it all began to hit at once. Sam suddenly caught himself feeling irritable. His eyes itched, his stomach ached something awful, and damn it, why was it so HOT in here? Sam rubbed aggravatedly at his eyes and abruptly sat up, yanked his shirt off, and threw it on the floor with a huff, startling Dean. "Uh, you OK?" Sam rubbed his eyes again. "NO! Not OK! I'm hot, and itchy, and, and..." He threw himself on his back and kicked the bed in frustration. Dean snorted. "Geez. Just get pissy, why don't ya. What the hell's crawled up YOUR ass?" Oh. And now, to Sam's utter mortification, he was hard, too! What the hell was going on?? How could he be turned on by nothing AND miserable? Sam turned away to try and hide his newest problem. "I don't know. Just feel awful." REALLY awful, because now his ass was itching, too! All Dean's irritation melted instantly, replaced with concern. "You feel bad? Ain't getting sick, are ya?" He leaned over to smell, and frowned. "You DO smell different. Can't put my finger on it, though..." Sam felt like his whole world was being picked up and violently shaken, he was almost ready to cry. "Please. Can you just turn the heat down? It's so hot in here I MIGHT get sick..." Dean hopped up. "Yeah, sure. Lemme get that." It was the middle of the winter, and there was a half-inch of snow outside, but if Sam wanted the heat turned down, he could bump it down a notch, no problem. He hoped Sam wasn't getting sick...

But Sam couldn't even think straight. He just wanted out of his stupid clothes. He ripped his socks off and threw them to the side, flopped back and forth a moment before wriggling out of his pants and chucking them across the room, too. Dean laughed worriedly, tried to make a joke of it. "Aw, come on, Sammy. Gonna strip for me, least do it RIGHT! Put me on a good show!" Sam groaned. Not only were his guts throbbing and aching, but that kind of talk wasn't helping his OTHER problem, any! He squirmed restlessly. Dean's brow furrowed, and he tried to smell Sam's neck, again. "Your smell, man. It's like it keeps changing..." Sam curled up in a ball and whimpered, shaking. 

Dean was at a loss. He'd never seen anyone go from perfectly fine to abject misery that quickly. He had no clue what was happening. Was it an emergency? Should he call Dad? But Dad just left, so probably not. Hunts were important, Dad would be pissed if they bothered him in the middle of one and it WASN'T an emergency. After all, he'd taken care of a sick Sam, before. He'd just have to figure it out. Fuck. What did sick people need? He tried to remember. Water, right? And... saltine crackers? They didn't have any of those. Damn it! Whatever, they'd get some when Dad got back. He grabbed the trashcan and set it beside the bed, in case Sam decided to throw up or something. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, alarmed at how warm he was. "Hey, Sam? Sam, you just tell me what you need, OK? I mean..." He didn't know what he meant. He just hoped Sam would pull out of it in a hurry, take a nap and sleep it off right quick, or something. Sam just rubbed his eyes and groaned. Dean sniffed him again. It worried him. Sam didn't exactly smell like your typical 'sick', but he definitely smelt like... something different. Sam's smell was seriously changing by the moment! But there was something vaguely familiar about it, like Dean should know what it was...

Dean brought Sam a cup of water, and decided to go for distraction. "Hey. You feel like shit, I know, but let's just watch something. Whatever you want. Get your mind off of it." Sam just looked at him pitifully. Dean grabbed the remote and pulled Sam up to lean against his side as he propped himself up on the headboard. "Yeah, let's do that. We'll find something. You just... stare at the TV and zone out. OK?" Sam just wrapped overheated arms around him like a fevered octopus and whimpered, taking what comfort he could from his brother's touch. He curled into it as best he could, even though he found it impossible to keep still, all his muscles trembling. Dean flipped through the channels, glancing down at Sam each time to see whether anything in particular was catching his attention. Dean tried to focus on finding something to watch, but Sam's SMELL was something else! It was getting stronger, even as it kept shifting, changing. And Sam wouldn't leave his blame eyes alone! Distraction. They needed a distraction. Come on, TV...

Sam did his best to try and watch, but his EYES! He wished he could just pluck them OUT, they itched so bad! And his nether regions were bothering him, too. (Stupid good-looking girls in every commercial really not helping...!) He couldn't decide which was worse, the ache in his guts, or the aches down THERE. If Dean hadn't been propping him up, he totally would have reached down and done something about it - but he wouldn't. Not on his brother! He felt too woozy to get up and move, though, so he just lay there and tried not to think about it. As the minutes went by, though, his resolve was slowly weakening...

Sam felt like he was slipping, like he was losing his grip. He couldn't concentrate, he couldn't form cohesive thoughts. Soon he was so blurry-brained, he wasn't even completely there. He wasn't watching TV, wasn't paying Dean any attention, either. All there was in Sam's world was just an omnipresent ache, a stifling warmth, and an all-consuming arousal. He wasn't even aroused by anyone or anything in particular. He was just ON, period! He shifted around manically, not at all sure what he was doing, just trying to relieve... something. Dean sat up straighter. "Sam? Sam, you OK?" But Sam wasn't answering, just groaning softly and twitching, manhandling himself. "Hey, Sam? Sam-" Then Dean smelt it.

Slick - and not his own! And a highly-distinctive 'omega' smell. The same smell that Sam had always had, but amplified a thousand times now, and mixed with an even MORE highly-distinctive smell that Dean only smelt twice a year, as it clung to everything he'd touched for a few days afterward. Fuck. Dean knew what this was. Sam was in heat!

Dean was paralyzed for a moment. (Sam? In heat?! No way...) He sniffed at Sam again, hoping he was wrong. But there was no mistaking that smell. Sam was most DEFINITELY in heat. (Why the fuck isn't Dad here for this???) Hell, SAM wasn't even here for this. Sam had checked out, all that was left was his frantically needy body. Sam was GONE. Dean tried to look at his eyes, but Sam was squeezing them shut. Yeah, that explained the itching. Dean couldn't remember much of his own first heat, but he DID remember how bad his own eyes had itched at first. John and Sam had told him that it had only taken a few hours for his iris rings to form. That they had started as just a few golden flecks, then there were more and more, eventually coalescing into a ring. Dean needed to see, needed more to go on than just a smell. "Sam! Sam, open your eyes, man. No, really, Sam. Come on. I need to see..." He shook Sam's shoulder until the kid winced and opened his eyes a moment. Yep, specks of gold were starting to show...

Though really, he shouldn't have even needed to see Sam's eyes. After all, there was all this slick leaking everywhere! Sam slithered out of his wet underwear, a section of the blanket beneath them already soaked. Dean grimaced - it was on his leg! Only his concern for Sam and Sam's wellbeing kept him from going off about how freaking GROSS it was. Was this what he did to THEM twice a year? Dean was half tempted to panic, but at least Sam wasn't really SICK. That was a relief. Right? This wasn't an illness, just Sam presenting, like they'd known he would. This was okay, right? Sure, Sam was utterly miserable, and was rapidly making the bed all nasty, but at least there would be no trip to the ER required. They just had to give it three days time, then he'd be fine, again. Dean ran a hand through his hair, tried to think what to do. Water. Water, and those 'baby' aspirin. He'd have to find those, he was pretty sure they were in his duffel bag. He couldn't remember them ever really doing HIM any good, but maybe they would for Sam...

Dean slid out from under his brother, who whined piteously at the loss of contact. "Shhh. Hey. Hey, it'll be OK. Shhh. I'ma go get you something, just lay here." As if Sam could do much else! All poor Sam seemed to be capable of was making noise, squirming around, and touching himself. Dean found the aspirin, poured two into his hand, and refilled a cup with water. "Hey. Sit up, Sam. Medicine." Sam didn't appear to hear him. "Sam! Look, I got something for you. Here, sit up..." But Sam was long gone, lost in his heat-haze. Dean sighed, before wrestling his little brother up into a sitting position up against the headboard. "Here, Sam." He pushed the two pills between Sam's lips, then held the water up to his mouth. "Sam. Here. Swallow." It took Sam a moment of looking dazedly at Dean before he understood what to do, and took a drink and swallowed. "Yeah, that's it. Go ahead and finish it, man." Sam tried, but even with Dean's help, he was dumping most of it all over the bed. At least a little of it went down Sam's throat, though. It would have to do...

Sam was already so loopy with lust he was practically drunk on it. He curled up on his side again, shaking, whispering obscenities as he frantically manipulated himself. Even though Dean had been through several heats of his own, it still freaked him out. He wasn't ready for this, Dad needed to come back and handle it! Dad. When WOULD Dad be back? Dean's heart raced, wondering if THIS was the hunt his dad got caught and arrested for. He desperately hoped not! Dean flicked anxious eyes over at the phone on the nightstand. He still wasn't entirely sure whether this counted as an emergency or not. It sure felt like one to him, but he sat there for several minutes, debating, watching Sam exhaust himself in pursuit of a satisfaction no normal orgasm could give him. Dean frowned in sympathy. He'd been there, he knew exactly how awful it was. He knew there was nothing in the world that could really ease Sam's pain except an alpha, and THAT thought scared Dean witless. To think of some freak, some creepy bastard like that asshole in Oregon touching Sam! Well, that was it - that settled it. He was calling their dad!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

John was sitting in his truck across the street from the alpha's apartment, thinking, trying to figure this one out. John Winchester was a hunter par excellence, but every once in a while, he met with a challenge that gave him pause. The alpha he was after was home, he knew, because he could SEE him asleep in bed. The apartment was on the ground floor, and every unusually huge floor-to-ceiling window in the place was wide open AND HAD NO CURTAINS. Or blinds! It would be simple enough to break in and shoot him in his sleep with a silenced gun. Problem was, the apartment was located on a truly extraordinarily busy street in a not-so-small city. John couldn't do the job in front of the windows, or everyone walking/driving by would witness it. But taking time to cover the windows (assuming he could even find anything to cover them with) would mean spending longer inside there, giving the alpha more time to possibly wake up and either shoot first, or call the police. It was a bit of a quandary. John had been sitting there for more than a few minutes, trying to decide on a course of action. People bustled all around his truck: joggers, dog-walkers, bicyclers, mothers with strollers. This was not supposed to be this difficult! He wondered if the man kept his windows all uncovered like that on purpose. Who the hell sleeps with all their windows open on a busy street like this, anyway? Did he never want any privacy? He had just about decided to go in and wait for the alpha in the bathroom, the only room with no windows...

John was abruptly jerked from that train of thought by a sudden loud ringing and vibration in his pocket. He bumped his arm, nearly jumping from his skin. He fished it out. After two years, he still hadn't quite gotten used to the thing; it still startled him every time. Pulling it out, he glanced at the number. The motel room? John frowned. The boys knew he was on a hunt. If this wasn't an emergency, they were going to have one VERY serious discussion when he got back! He flipped it open. "Boys? What's wrong?" "Dad, I'm sorry. I know you're busy, but I figured you'd want to know." A couple seconds' pause went by. John grit his teeth. "I'm on a hunt, Dean. I don't have time to chat. Out with it!" He could hear Dean swallow. "It's Sam, Dad. I think he's in heat. He IS in heat. Presenting."

John nearly dropped the phone. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, as he watched everything on the street moving in slow-motion. He took a deep breath. "Dean. Are you absolutely sure?" "Yes, sir. I'm positive. I can SMELL it, he SMELLS like heat. But even if he didn't, Dad, he's laying here butt-naked, marinating the bed in Sam-juice. AND he's got gold flecks starting to show around his eyes. So yeah, I'm pretty sure he's presenting." John closed his eyes. Of course, of COURSE it would have to happen while he was off on a hunt! He fought down the impulse to turn around and drive straight back to them - he still had this sorry psychopath that slept in front of uncovered windows to take care of. But his two omega boys all alone, one crippled by his first heat! Fear and anger vied for dominance. John whispered a silent prayer, before turning drill sergeant. "Dean. Pay attention. Are you listening to me?" "Yes, sir." "I will return absolutely as soon as I'm able to. In the meantime, I'm counting on you to take care of Sam for me, and follow the orders I'm about to give you. Can you do that, son?" "Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?" "CHECK THE DOOR. Make sure it's locked, 'salt'ed. There's already 'salt' down, but put MORE. The stuff may be useless, but we'll take no chances. Use an entire container, then get another and pour it all around the bed. Right now, while I'm on the phone." "Yes, sir!" John could hear movement, a sound that might be tiny granules pouring. "Done. What else?" John eyed the window across the street. "Gun. HAVE IT ON YOU. Locked and loaded, knives at hand, too. I don't plan to be more than a few hours at most, but I want you ready for anything. Sam's completely open and vulnerable right now. Someone has to be there, prepared to defend him, and you're the only one to do it until I get back. You watch out for him, Dean." Something of the soldier Dean might have been had he not been an omega could be heard in Dean's tone. "Yes, sir!" John sighed, relaxed his own voice a bit. "You know better than me that there's really not much you can do for him right now. But he COULD dehydrate. Don't let that happen, Dean. Every half-hour or so, you make sure he drinks something. He'll probably fight you on it; you never want to drink for us, either. But you get as much down his throat as you can, anyway. Do you hear me?" "Yes, sir. Got him to drink a little 'fore I called you. A little. Spilled most of it..." John nodded, as though Dean could see him. "Good. I know, it isn't easy. But you keep trying every so often, anyway. Dean, I'm gonna have to let you go, now. Just let me kill this monster, and I'll be there as fast as I can. Take care of Sam. I'm counting on you, son." "Yes, sir." Click. He was in a hurry, now. Time to take care of business, already...

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When John opened the door to the room just over an hour later, the SMELL hit him like a ton of bricks. Even betas could smell heats - it was entirely too strong a smell to go unnoticed. But Sam was emitting a scent FAR more potent and overpowering than any Dean or Mary had ever produced. The boy was so ripe it was almost sickening! But John pushed past that. Locking the door behind him, he watched Dean leap up, relief cracking his voice. "Dad? Oh, thank God. Dad, just LOOK at him! What do we do?!" John turned his eyes to Sam on the bed, who was rolling around on the sopping wet sheets, crying as he masturbated like a fiend. He sighed. "We do exactly what we do when YOU'RE in heat, Dean. Feed him, make him drink as much as we can, clean him off a little periodically. Sit and guard him, wait 'til it passes." Dean's face was a strange mix of apprehension and mortification. "That what I'm like in heat?" John gazed at his miserable second son. "Pretty much. Minus the crying and whispering."

Three LONG days went by. Dean did what he could to help. He broke up bits of food to poke into his brother's mouth, held Sam's hands away so John could get at the boy to wipe off some of the drying fluids he rapidly grew re-encrusted with. They took turns trying to get Sam to drink. They were surely the LONGEST three days of John's life. John had dealt with Dean's heats before, of course, but it was so much worse with Sam, just because Sam kept crying. It was nerve-rattling, listening to the boy cry for hours and hours on end. The only time he stopped was when he fell asleep, though a few stray tears still leaked out, even then. Dean was bothered by it, too, but still managed to find the humor in the situation. It was halfway through the second day, after coming in from a run to some fast-food place down the street, that Dean stared for a second and smirked. John glared at him. "What's funny, Dean?" Dean's smile only grew. "Paid any attention to what he's saying?" John turned to look at Sam again, because no, he hadn't actually been paying attention to his boy's mutters - he'd been too focused on keeping him hydrated. They sat and listened closely a minute. John rubbed his forehead and sighed. "He learn all that from you, Dean? Been telling him inappropriate bedtime stories?" Dean grinned. "No, sir! I only WISH I could come up with talk that dirty. Girls would frickin' LOVE it!" John closed his eyes and shook his head...

Both mornings John had sent Dean out after breakfast and a newspaper. Reading the first one later that second evening, he called Dean over to look and tapped it with his finger. "This here." Leaning over his dad's shoulder, Dean scanned the article with wide eyes. "A BOMB? You actually BOMBED the guy?" John nodded. Dean plopped down in the other chair and gaped. "With a real, live BOMB?" John started reading the next page. "Tiny one. More like a very, very strong Molotov cocktail than a true bomb, since it was chemical. The fact that it was strapped to an alarm clock and a remote control was just to throw the authorities as long as possible." Dean grinned dazedly, hero-worship in his eyes. "Dad. That's... That's just awesome. You BOMBED the fucker." John frowned. "Language, Dean. But yes. I 'bombed' him. Was in a hurry after you called. Didn't have time to wait until he woke up. Had to get out of there, and he was laying right there in front of the window. Fastest way to finish the job and get back here." Dean grinned again. "Yeah. I wondered how you got back so fast!" But then he frowned. "But wait a minute. Alarm clock and remote control? That thing under the truck seat? How come you never told me what that was?" John glanced over at Sam, and went back to his paper. "Didn't want you boys playing with it and winding up in the paper, yourselves." He resisted the urge to smile as he watched Dean cross his arms in annoyance as he turned the page. "You know you two would've, so don't even give me that." Dean glowered before looking down. John smirked and shook his head. "Try and give your brother some more water. He seems to open his mouth faster for you."


	24. Awkward Conversations

After Sam's heat finally slacked off, it took another almost twenty-six hours for him to start feeling human, again. It was late afternoon before Sam finally sat up all on his own, of his own volition. Dean quickly offered him another glass of water, even though he'd probably drunk over a gallon that day, already. John noted with satisfaction that Sam seemed a little steadier, less shaky. "Feeling any better?" Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. Just a little tired, still." John nodded. "I bet. You've been through a lot these last few days." Dean agreed wholeheartedly. "Yeah, how much do you even remember? Looked like one HELL of a heat, musta been bad." Sam looked from his brother to his dad and back. "Not very much. Just bits and pieces, being all hot and itchy. Remember eating a french fry shoved in my mouth. And Dad telling me to hold still a second, then this amazing wet coolness. I guess you were cleaning me off, like you do for Dean?" He looked questioningly at John, who nodded. "That's about all I remember . Mostly just feeling like I was dying, like I was starving, empty, waiting for something that never showed up..." Sam's voice faded on that. "Then I woke up out of all that, and just lay here feeling drained. And you kept bringing me water. That's pretty much all I remember." Dean nodded, "Yeah. That's a heat for ya." John sighed. "Well, it's done, now. Months 'til it happens again. Think you can eat for us?" Sam nodded, and John handed him a turkey sandwich and a banana. Sam hadn't really thought he was that hungry, but surprised himself by wolfing them down at record speed.

John watched him closely, feeling Sam's forehead when he was done eating. The fever had quit the previous day, but John checked again, just to be sure, and was relieved to find Sam's skin still at it's normal temperature. He pulled the boy's face up to look at his eyes. "Well. They're definitely ringed with gold, now. You wanna get up and see?" A thoughtful look passed over Sam's face, before he turned his gaze to his big brother for a moment. "Yeah..." Letting go, John watched his boy walk over to the mirror and stare at his reflection. Sam widened his eyes and leaned closer, turning slightly to see them from different angles. "They itched SO bad. Was worse than that poison sumac I got into in Runnelstown." John nodded. "I'm told that's normal." Sam's brow furrowed. "My rings are brighter than Dean's. How come?" John shook his head. "I don't know. Might just be the contrast with your darker irises making them LOOK brighter." Dean popped open a can of something to drink, drawing their attention. John cleared his throat. "Say, Dean. You wanna run an errand for me?" Dean perked right up. "Yes, sir. Kind of errand?" Duh, of course he wanted to run an errand! Any excuse to get out and drive the Impala, and do something for his dad while he was at it! "Grocery store. Just grab a few things to get us through 'til day after tomorrow. And another bottle of those 'baby' aspirin, since you're almost out, now." Dean grabbed his jacket, wallet, and keys. "Yes, sir." He was almost out the door, when John jumped up and grabbed him. "I don't think so. Where's your weapon? You don't step one foot out of here without one." Dean laughed nervously, ashamed to be caught not thinking, not taking care of himself like he'd been taught to. "Um, yeah. Let me grab it." He snatched both his pocket knife and the smallest of the revolvers and shoved them in his pockets. John grabbed his arm again. "And your phone?" Dean pulled it out of his jacket and flashed it, before grinning and hurrying out.

John turned to Sam, who stood at the mirror, still studying his eyes. "Sam. Come here, son." The kid turned back and sat on the bed. "Yes, sir?" John pushed a hand through the boy's hair. (Hair which was GOING to be at least trimmed soon, even if Sam DID whine about it!) He sat down beside the boy, and took a moment just to gaze on his son, on his and Mary's baby that was all but grown up, now - a presented omega. "You're an omega, now." Sam smiled as though that were funny. "Always BEEN an omega, Dad. I'm just presented, now." John sighed again. "You know what I mean, Sam." Sam nodded. "Yeah." John frowned. "It's yes, sir. And we need to talk about it. Might as well be while your brother's out." He waited 'til Sam looked back up at him. "It's serious, you know. Puts you in a precarious position. I want you to stay safe." Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. I know." "Well, I want to be SURE you know. In the morning, you're gonna take one of Dean's 'scent suppressants'. There'll be a bottle of your own coming in the mail, but Dean can share his until they arrive. And when they do, Sam? You're going to take them EVERY DAY. Without fail. You start getting low, we'll make some calls and get you some more. That understood?" Sam nodded. "Yes, sir." John continued. "Be taking you to a doctor, tomorrow. To two of them, so we have the paperwork we need to get your forms filled out for school." Sam smirked. Dean had acted like it was terrible, doctors poking and prodding, examining his eyes, taking blood, urine, and slick samples. But Sam was pretty sure it would be alright. Dean liked to play tough guy, but Sam knew exactly how much of a baby his big brother could be about a lot of really basic stuff. "Don't worry, Dad. I can behave in a doctor's office." John snorted, reading the joke between the lines. God forbid he ever have to take Dean to another doctor! "I know you can. But while you're there, you listen to what all they tell you. I'm sure you already know most of it, but still. Anything else you want to know, that'll be your chance to ask. Take advantage of it. We'll even step out of the room, if you want us to." Sam gave him a crazy look. "Dad, you just spent three days watching me roll around naked, jerking off and leaking slick everywhere. I don't really think I have any privacy left to protect - at least not from you and Dean!" John smiled. "I'm just saying. Don't hesitate to ask those doctors anything you think you need to know."

"I got something for you." Sam looked up expectantly, as John got up and dug something out of the bedside table, taking deep breaths to ready himself for the same talk he'd given Dean four-and-a-half years previous. He came back and handed it to Sam, who looked almost confused. "A box of condoms?" John nodded. "You know what they're for, right?" Sam turned the box several times. "Uh, yeah. I mean..." John sighed. Again. "Then you make sure you read the paper folded up in there. The instructions on how to use 'em right." He shifted, Sam staring at him in bewilderment. "Look, this is NOT me telling you to go out and look for opportunities to use 'em. But I'm not stupid. I was young once. I went to school, had friends. I know how boys are, and that if a boy wants it bad enough, he'll find some way to get it." He paused again, took another breath. "What I WANT is for you to just wait. But I'm under no illusions. I know how this works. If you decide you want to, you'll eventually figure out a way to make it happen - no matter what I tell you, or how closely I watch you." John swallowed. "Especially since you're an omega, and I know your drives are or will be a little higher and stronger than most. It's bound to happen at some point - if it hasn't already." A soul-searching look was narrowed at Sam, as he continued. "So if and when it happens, I just want you to be careful. Don't need you catching anything that can't be cured, or knocking some girl up."

A moment of silence went by. Sam was feeling more than a little awkward, but it was obviously nothing compared to how flustered John obviously felt when he started up talking again. Because then Sam was amazed to see his dad - his ex-Marine, hunter/assassin dad, who took no shit off no one - actually BLUSH a little. John stared a hole through the wall behind Sam, jaw and neck muscles tense, eyes pinned to one spot in an effort to soldier through what he had to say. He stammered, "And, uh, (he cleared his throat) if... if it ain't a girl. 'Cause maybe it won't be a girl. If it isn't, you... you make sure you use 'em then, too." Sam watched John with rapt and disbelieving attention, but John didn't see it - he was too busy staring a hole in the wall. "You use 'em. Or, uh, you make sure THEY do. Both of you do. Somebody do! Make sure they get used." John was sweating bullets. "Use 'em. No matter WHO you wind up with. You're with anybody at all, you just use the things." Sam took a moment to try and process, but was still unsure which direction was up, in this conversation. "Uh. Yes, sir. I'll, uh, I'll use 'em. I promise. Um, even though I don't think I'm gonna need to. At least, not like THAT." Pause. "You do know I'm straight, right?" John almost had his act together again, but he still wasn't looking Sam in the eye. "Whether you are, or you aren't, Sam. Hardly the point. I'm just saying, covering all bases. Again, I'm not TELLING you to get in the kind of situation where you'd need to. Really I'm asking that you not, for as long as you can hold off. I'm just saying that if you do - with ANYBODY - then you use 'em." Sam nodded as if in a daze, still not sure that this was an actual, real-life conversation he was having, just because he couldn't remember ever, in all his fourteen, almost fifteen years of life, seeing his dad look so astoundingly uncomfortable. It was fascinating, really...!

John swallowed again, forced himself to keep talking. A little more relaxed now, but still he stared at the wall. "There's a reason I'm emphasizing this. You're an omega, Sam. A male omega. A boy that also has a FEMALE-type reproductive system." Long pause. A hint of that redness was returning to John's face. "And while I really don't want you knocking a girl up..." Swallow. "I don't want YOU knocked up, either." An even longer pause, as John closed his eyes a second, shook his head, and wondered how many other fathers had to have a talk like this with their sons. "That's not supposed to be possible, outside your heats. You're a MALE omega; your female system is secondary. Only supposed to be something you need to worry about twice a year, but still, I don't want you risking it." Pause. "There's a few thousand omegas in this country, but I seriously doubt if even ten of them are male. Almost everything anyone knows about male omegas is hearsay. We know you can get pregnant. We ASSUME only during your heats. But Sam, I don't want you to be the reason we learn different." John finally turned to look at Sam. "You understand what I'm saying, son?" Sam nodded, with a serious, earnest look on his face. "Yes, sir, I do. You don't want ME to be a case study in biology textbooks. I get that." John took a deep breath and smiled, clapping Sam on the back. "Good." He laughed. "Well, then. Take you a shower. Sleep in this one with me and Dean tonight, maid can change all that in the morning." Sam looked at the other bed. "Bet they'll have to just throw 'em away..."

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At the doctors' office, Sam decided that Dean and his dad stepping out of the room was the very LAST thing he wanted. Because Dean was right - it was terrible. Having strange betas all up in his business was profoundly unsettling! He knew for SURE now that he wasn't gay, and was pretty sure he would never willingly mate, because being touched THERE was pretty high up there on his list of Worst Experiences Ever. He accepted it quietly, though, because he knew it was necessary. He knew they had to examine him thoroughly if they were going to sign off and make his designation official, legal. It was awful, but he dealt with it. He at least had the sense Dean had lacked, to resist squirming away, curling up and snarling, or calling the good M.D. a list of R-rated names that would shock a sailor. (All of which were things Dean had done.) He only dropped his facade of indifference for just the merest moment when they stuck a stupid cold metal INSTRUMENT of some sort up in him, to touch places he was sure he couldn't reach with his longest finger. His knees shook, and he whimpered, but Dean and John were right there to grab his arms and keep him from moving. Dean looked freaked out, but John just kneaded the back of Sam's neck, whispering that it'd be alright, that he wouldn't let anyone there hurt him. The doctor nudged him somewhere up there, and got his stupid slick sample, along with a lot of other information. Sam had absolutely no idea why, with all of the imaging technology available these days, a doctor would feel the need to PROBE him just to confirm that he did, indeed, have a second pathway up there that lead to a womb. (Weren't there CAT scans and MRIs for that kind of thing?) But Sam just got dressed again and snuggled into his dad's arms as the doctors talked to each other and John while waiting on the lab to rush and prioritize the tests on all his different fluid samples. He would probably owe Dean an apology later, for thinking he'd been a baby about it. IF Dean brought it up, first...!

Sam was busy drawing deep breaths of his dad's scent when John tugged his head up. "Are you listening, son?" He shook his head. No, he hadn't been. One of the doctors smiled. "I was just saying that your results are back, and you are DEFINITELY an omega. And probably the most amazingly fertile one I've ever seen lab results on, male OR female." Sam frowned, unsure what to make of that, when the other doctor spoke up. "Mr. Winchester, your son is producing unprecedented levels of (18-letter word) and (18-letter word). As high as most omegas during their heats! And you say his ended the day before yesterday?" John nodded. "That's right." The second doctor whistled. "I would have loved to have seen his levels, then!" John's frown deepened. "What exactly does that mean? Something wrong? Should we be worried?" The first doctor shook his head. "No, nothing wrong. It's just that his hormone and pheromone levels are absolutely off the charts. Did his heat seem exceptionally rough?" John had to admit that it had. "His mother and brother - both omegas. But I'd never seen either as bad off as he was. Cried and shook almost the entire seventy-two hours. Took longer for him to recover, too." The doctor nodded. "I'm not surprised. Or actually, I'm only surprised he didn't wind up in the ER! If his (18-letter word) was where we think it was, and he'd been a beta, he WOULD have been in the emergency room." John interrupted. "But what does that mean? Does something need to happen? Something I need to do?" The doctors looked at each other. "From what we can tell, it just means your son's reproductive system is, well, about as perfectly primed as anyone's ever was. He's BEYOND fertile; to be blunt, he's as set and ready to go as any uterus possibly could be. Most omegas don't conceive their first time, their bodies too overwhelmed by all the complex biochemical reactions that accompany 'mating'. Your son, though? 'Mating' probably won't slow him down, a bit. We'll actually be shocked if he DOESN'T turn up pregnant first time. And every time after!" Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who looked nervously up at his dad, who glared at the doctors as though it was their fault. "So what do I do?" The second doctor smiled crookedly. "Unless you want lots of grandchildren in a hurry? I'd watch the boy, keep him on a short leash." Seeing John's glare intensify, he hurriedly added, "I'm not insulting your son's self-control, because it might not even be his own fault. I'm sure you're able to smell him?" John nodded. "And you must know that's highly unusual. We betas usually can't. But he's putting off more than three times the pheromones an omega usually does. It's just his hyper-fertility advertising itself. I'd keep a close eye on him. If WE can smell him, then alphas will be absolutely salivating from a quarter-mile away." Something like pity showed on his face. "I've been a doctor for almost 35 years. I've seen how hard life can be for omegas. The higher their (18-letter word) levels, the crazier they drive alphas. I treated one years ago that couldn't hardly walk out of her house without having to call the cops. A very persistent alpha hounded her for over two years, before finally raping her." He paused. "And then, of course, she had to stay with him. Because they bond to each other, alphas and omegas, making it dangerous to separate them. She was forced to move in with her rapist. I'm just warning you, because I don't want that for your son. But his smell will make that a real possibility, if you don't watch him. I'd recommend putting him on what are called 'scent suppressants'. I'll write you a prescription." John softened, some. "Thank you. But he's already on them. Took one, this morning." The doctors looked surprised, but John just smiled a strained smile. "Two other omegas, in my wife and older son. I'm very familiar with all of this." 

Sam decided it was his turn to talk. "So, if we're really that worried about me getting pregnant, can't I just get on some kind of birth-control pill? I mean, that's what beta girls do..." The doctors shook their heads. "No, I'm afraid not. They're not effective on omegas. The amounts you would have to take to get the same effect betas do would destroy your liver, your kidneys. They'd do far more harm than good." Sam glanced at his dad. "Well, then isn't there something else, something besides pills? I mean, I thought there were TONS of birth-control options out there: shots, patches, all kinds of stuff. Commercials on TV make it sound that way." The first doctor smiled apologetically. "Commercials on TV are aimed at betas. There are no options for omegas, other than abstinence or the use of condoms. Omega reproductive systems like yours are far too complex to tamper with that easily. Pharmecutical companies have been trying to develop something for omegas for years, but with no success, yet." He paused and flicked his eyes at John, before smiling gently. "But even if I could, I'll go ahead and admit that I would be VERY uncomfortable prescribing birth-control for someone your age. Fourteen, even fifteen, is very young. You would probably do well to wait a few years before..." Another pause, another look at John. "Before doing anything you might want to have a serious talk with your father about." The mature adults in the room all nodded at each other, while Sam shot death-glares at a snickering Dean's head.

Sam was the one that marched out of there triumphant, though. While John was busy signing paperwork and Dean killed a minute or two flipping through a three-year-old magazine, Sam quietly weaselled an enormous "I WENT TO THE DOCTOR TODAY!" sticker (with a squirrel in a pink sweater on it!) from one of the highly-amused and happy-to-cooperate nurses. Holding his breath, he stuck it on Dean's left shoulder. John saw and smirked, but didn't say a thing. Dean had absolutely no idea, didn't find it 'til he got ready for bed that evening. Sam absolutely lost it when he did, after keeping cool about it all day, and figured Dean pile-driving him into the bed was well worth it. Score!


	25. Bars

Sam's presentation, of course, initiated a number of changes for the three of them. John nearly despaired as their financial status slipped again, even farther than ever before! He was beyond relieved that Dean was done with school and working, too, or they'd never have been able to pull through. 'Scent suppressants' for both his older sons meant paying out $1,400 a month! And that was on TOP of motel rooms, food, ammo, the $50 monthly for Adam... Dean had been paying for everything to do with the Impala, all his own small necessities, and most of the food. He now took over paying for most of Sam's little needs, too, as well as a lot of the gas for the truck - though Sam now regularly took the bus to and from school, and they tried as often as possible to use only ONE vehicle, just so they WOULDN'T need to pay for the extra gas! Every once in a while, they even resorted to eating the occasional weekend meal at a soup kitchen (which was utterly humiliating for John), but it still wasn't quite enough, so John was right back to regular gambling, again. But with both boys presented, and doctors essentially having warned him that Sam would be even more attractive to alphas than MOST omegas, he was very unwilling to leave them alone anymore. Especially after learning just how weak a deterrent 'salt' actually was! So nope. He didn't want them staying in the room alone, anymore. Dean was an adult, even if he wasn't quite twenty, yet. And Sam was nearly as tall as his brother, already. So why couldn't they just go WITH him?

John couldn't come up with anything better. And Dean? Well, he thought it was a stupendous idea! Dean had absolutely ZERO objections to hanging out in bars! (Hell, yeah!) Sam was curious and up for it, too. The only slight issue was obtaining fake IDs to get them in with him. Bobby knew someone in Boise, Idaho that made them good enough to fool even most law enforcement. That, of course, was MORE money, but Bobby insisted on paying for it, accepting that it would be paid back in salvage-yard labor the next time they were out near Sioux Falls. John breathed easier with his friend's help, knowing how much better he'd do if he could stay out longer, his mind at ease with his boys WITH him. Though he wondered if he'd made a mistake, letting the boys pick their own fake names and addresses. "So you're Charles Norris, from Intercourse, Pennsylvania? Really, Dean...?" A shit-eating grin was all the response Dean offered. Lord help them! Though Sam's choices were only marginally better. Apparently he was Carl Sagan...

However, there was one very serious talking-to to be given before their first juke-joint outing together. They were both ridiculously excited, and Dean was about to short-circuit with giddy anticipation, but John sat them down and looked them straight in the eye, all business. "Boys. Look at me. Are you listening?" Twin nods. "Yes, sir!" "Then do, listen up. I'm taking you with me, BUT YOU WILL BEHAVE, THERE. It's a bar, but we're not going in there to act crazy. I'm going there to WORK, to make money. And this is important, boys. If you two can't act halfway sensible, no one'll believe you're actually twenty-one." He paused and took a breath, tried to read his son's faces, see whether anything he was saying was sinking in. "Sam, you're gonna have an especially hard time pulling it off, just because you still LOOK young. If you ACT too young and silly, then the gig's up. So tonight I need you to show me just exactly how mature and responsible you can be, alright?" Sam nodded. "Yes, sir." John turned hard eyes on Dean, in particular. "So this is me reminding you, that if either of you decides to pull something stupid and get thrown out, my chance to make us a few extra dollars is gone. And we can't have that, we need the money too badly. So if you mess this up, (John pointed a finger straight at the boy he felt most likely to cause him problems) I'm telling you now that I will make sure you regret it!" Dean blinked. "And you're pointing at ME? Oh, come on, Dad-" John shook his head. "Dad, nothing. This is your one and only warning. I WILL BE WATCHING YOU. Feel free to talk to people, dance with girls, have you a Coke. But both of you hear me. If I suspect that either of you is even THINKING about touching actual alcohol? You'll be in enough trouble to do you for ten years." Sam nodded, while Dean scowled. "What'll it matter, if everyone thinks we're twenty-one? Kinda defeats the purpose of having a fake ID..." John LOOKED at him. "Because you're NOT twenty-one. You're fifteen and nineteen. I KNOW how old you are, and you're not drinking age, regardless of what your new ID says." Dean looked annoyed and ready to argue. "Yeah, but nobody else in there'll know that. I mean, if we're gonna pretend to be older, we might as well play the part, right?" John cut him off right there. "Dean, you're only going in there so I can keep an eye on you two. NOT to get drunk and make a fool of yourself. Is that clear?" Dean just kept pushing. "But Dad, who's gonna believe that two guys are going in a bar just to sit and eat? There's restaurants for that. It's a BAR!" "Exactly. It's a local beer joint, not a Wild West saloon. So forget whatever crazy ideas you've gotten from movies, because YOU two are gonna behave in there, or you'll answer to me." Dean was opening his mouth to object some more, when John interrupted. "Keep arguing, little boy. I'm just warning you. First idiotic move either of you makes, I'll get up and spank you right there in the middle of the bar, right there in front of God and everybody. And that's a promise." Dean looked totally gobsmacked. "Dad! I'm an adult! You wouldn't really do that!" John gave Dean as hard and focused a stare as he ever had. "Try me." Dean looked away, swallowed, and grinned nervously. "Uh. No, sir. Just gonna hang out and behave..." John smiled, relaxed a little. "You really want a beer, you can try one back here in the room. With me. But out in public, you're not gonna do ANYTHING to cause us trouble. We don't need legal problems, AND I need your mind clear. I'll be keeping an eye on both of you, but I'm going there to focus on cards and pool, whatever's most promising tonight. So Dean, I need you sober, to help watch out for your brother." Sam huffed. "I'M not gonna be drinking, Dad. I'm not the one you need to worry about!" John sighed. "That's not what I'm worried about, and you know it, Sam. Your only job in there is to stay quiet, and stick by your brother. You two stay close together. I'm unaware of any alphas in this town, but if one should walk in, I need both of you on alert and ready to move. NOT wasted and easy to grab." He let a moment's pause go by, before speaking softly. "Please, boys."

That soft plea won them over more completely than ANYTHING he might have threatened them with. They scooted in and snuggled into him. "It's OK, Dad, we get it. Stay safe!" "Yeah, don't worry, Dad. We'll behave!" John smiled and clutched them closer. "Only doing all this for you boys...", he whispered. Sam nodded. "We know, Dad." They sat there a moment, sniffing him and each other contentedly, 'til Dean opened his mouth. "But, uh, you really gonna bring some beer back here? So we can drink it HERE?" John sighed, and Sam rolled his eyes...

But it went well! Sam and Dean parked themselves at a table beside the far wall, and they DID behave, partly because they knew how important the money their dad was making was, partly because they didn't want to ruin the novel new fun. (AND because Dean really didn't want his tail beat in public. He wasn't sure, but his dad MIGHT actually do that...) They kept their noses down, ordered soft drinks, fried pickles, and buffalo wings, and listened to the comical goings-on of young men just a few years older than Dean at the next table over. Dean tried hitting on the wait girl, but met with only her bemused, patient smile. He resisted the impulse to follow her over to the bar and try harder when he caught his dad's eye, looking over at them from across the room. He watched the ball game on the huge TV in the corner for a few minutes, instead. Sam, the freaking health-nut, ordered both kraut and coleslaw. (What the fuck was wrong with his brother? He actually wanted all that cabbage?) Sam, in turn, was completely revolted, watching Dean squirt mustard and relish all over buffalo wings, and get the mess all over his face. Really. Dad said behave! Sam was pretty sure that eating like a toddler and staining your shirt was not part of behaving... 

Only then there was a distraction. Dean and Sam, along with most every other guy in the building, felt their eyes bug out when a gaggle of loud young women burst in. Dean's heartrate sped up in the pleasantest of ways for a moment when a petite little Hispanic gal strutted over their direction, only then he froze when she walked by, blatantly winking at SAM. Huh? Dean stared at his little brother in confusion, noting with mild annoyance the exact moment that it all clicked in Sam's head that a hot babe had walked in and chosen to acknowledge HIM. Sam smirked at Dean, who kicked him under the table. "Ow! What, you jealous, or something?" "Fuck you, dude..." Sam grinned. "Think that's what SHE wants to do!" Dean scowled. "Seriously. Fuck you. You're like, still in high school. She's a freaking pedophile." "You're mad you're too old for pedophiles?" "No. Just mad that they keep taking up all my waitress's time. She's needed at THIS table..." "Just give it up, Dean, she doesn't want you. She's all about ballcap-guy. She's only sat on his lap and kissed him like, six times just since we've been here." "Shut up." Sam shrugged. "I'm just saying. But hey, THAT one seems to like you!" Sam gestured helpfully towards a morbidly overweight woman in her sixties a few tables over, who was staring at Dean with obvious interest. Dean glared. "Fuck you..." Sam smiled a lopsided smile."You know, you keep saying that. You a pedophile, too?" Dean looked disgusted. "Ew, man! You're gross." "YOU'RE gross. You've got mustard all over your chin." Dean grabbed a napkin and swiped at his face. "So? You're eating fermented leaves. Gross." Sam rolled his eyes. "At least it's not on my shirt! YOU'RE gross. Grossest of the gross." Someone across the room couldn't handle their whiskey and puked on the floor. "Nope. HE'S gross...." Well. There was really no arguing with that one...

Three hours later, John decided to leave the game, having collected just shy of $200. Almost $65 an hour wasn't bad, at all! Paying for his two beers, he strolled over to where his oldest two sat giggling harder than any of the drunks surrounding them. His lips twitched. "Well. You two look like you've been having fun..." Sam beamed up at him. "Yeah! Dad, watch this..." He and Dean proceeded to demonstrate the trick they'd devised to get peanut shells to bounce between their glasses. They'd figured out how to keep it going by blowing on them whilst tapping the glasses just so. John laughed. "And you two haven't had the first drink..." Sam and Dean's bill paid, they walked back out to the Impala. Sam yawned. "So, we're gonna do that again?" John smiled. "As long as I can trust you boys to behave as well as you did tonight? Absolutely." Dean had an idea. "Hey. If we're gonna start going with you, why can't WE learn to do it, too? I mean, three of us working together oughta make more than just one, right? Instead of us just sitting there, useless." John harrumphed. "I don't know. There to MAKE money, not lose it." But he looked thoughtful a moment. His boys DID already know how to play poker, they just needed to learn the subtleties of actually gambling. And pool? Their hand-eye coordination was already top of the line from all the knife and target practice, weekend fight lessons, even that atlatl Sam loved. They would probably prove good at it, given the chance. It would be a good skill for them to learn... He spoke slowly. "But sure. Sure, Dean. You two wanna learn, I'll teach you. You two are smart enough. We'll take it slow, though. Not gonna let you LOSE money..." Dean and Sam grinned at him. "Awesome!" "Great! Let's do it!" John chuckled. "Taking it SLOW, I said. We'll probably start with pool. Lot of places will let you play for free, just have to find those. You spend a couple months showing me how well you do, before I hand you any money to work with." His sons were ecstatic. "Alright!" "Yeah! We're gonna do it up right, totally kick ASS!" John frowned. "Dean. Language!" Dean just grinned...

They were highly motivated, and learned much faster than John had anticipated. He was right about their natural potential. They quickly worked up to a skill level to rival men that had played for longer than their combined ages. Sam was an excellent card-counter, and made connections with his geometry homework with the pool, while Dean frequently stooped to very effectively just DISTRACTING his opponents. Indeed, the hardest part was trying to teach them to tone it down and not be so damned COCKY about it. John was forever reminding them that men with money on the line were seldom in that much of a joking mood, and antagonizing them, especially when they'd been drinking, was not wise! Dean, in particular, kept John's nerves on edge, just waiting for the day he had to rescue his weak omega son from a group of pissed-off betas intent on pummeling him. Thus it was that the weekend fight lessons were stepped up a notch, around the same time. If only they would just LISTEN to him, though, they would hopefully not need those skills! They got better, though, and were soon able to help push them all back up into a much more secure income bracket. Thus was ONE problem solved. John was proud of his boys, even if he DID want to wring their necks on occasion...


	26. The Headache That Is Moving

But if the money problems were fairly easily resolved, there was another problem that only got worse, with no solution in sight. Because if Sam hadn't liked moving BEFORE he presented, he made it abundantly clear just how much he absolutely HATED it, after!

"THIS ISN'T FAIR! THERE'S ONLY TWO AND A HALF WEEKS LEFT IN THE SEMESTER! AND I JUST GOT ELECTED REPLACEMENT CAPTAIN OF THE DEBATE TEAM! WE HAVE A MEET IN THREE DAYS, AND SHELBY SAID SHE WAS GONNA COME WATCH!" John rubbed his temples. "I understand, Sam. But I have a hunt in Washington State to get to. Unfortunately, that is a much higher priority. You can join the debate team at the next school." Sam stomped his foot and flung a notepad at the wall. "WHAT IF I CAN'T? WHAT IF THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE ONE? AND I HAVE FRIENDS, HERE! SICK AND TIRED OF ROAMING AROUND, LEAVING EVERYBODY! UNLIKE DEAN, NOBODY EVER WANTS TO ACTUALLY WRITE ME BACK!" Sam was beyond envious that Dean and Joel were still writing each other, four years later. Matter of fact, Dean had received a letter just two days before from Joel, happily announcing the birth of his and Danielle's twins. Their firstborn they were sure would be a beta, but Danielle was adamant that she could detect the faint, muted tone of unpresented alpha on the second! Joel, proud daddy, had even sent photographs. Dean was happy for his friend. Sam was just jealous, which didn't improve his outlook on moving again, any.

John and Dean finished packing their's and Sam's stuff, while Sam stomped around, kicking the furniture and continuing to yell. "It's not freaking FAIR! Always yanking us up, hauling us somewhere new! I WANNA STAY HERE, DAD!" Dean rolled his eyes and interjected, trying his best to get Sam to see reason. "But WHY, Sam? You didn't like this place when we first got here, anyway. Said you couldn't believe we were staying somewhere with no library, or even a radio station that didn't play gospel or bluegrass. So what the hell would you wanna stay, for?" "BECAUSE! I DON'T WANNA MOVE AGAIN!" John sighed, made a final check of the bathroom. There really wasn't anything at all they could say that would make even the least impression on Sam. He knew that, because it was now like this EVERY time. The usual proceedure saw Sam rant and rave from the minute he found out they were moving, and for miles down the road. He would keep on and on for as long it could possibly be tolerated, ignoring all the repeated pleas and warnings to just stop it and shut up, until John finally just reached over and swatted his leg. Then he would curl up, pout, and maybe cry silently until they got there. Within a couple hours after arrival, though, he'd be fine again, just as though it had never happened - his usual calm, sweet self. Then two to four weeks later, they'd move again, and the cycle would start anew. John had learnt not to mention it to him until the last possible minute. Keeping it always a surprise meant that the boy would be louder and madder about it, but at least it wouldn't last as long!

"Alright. Looks like everything. Dean, you go turn the keys in. I'll load the vehicles." Which primarily meant loading SAM. Dean walked out, as Sam slammed himself down into a chair and gripped the armrests tightly, a challenge in his eyes. John ignored him for a moment, in favor of carrying the duffle bags and weapons cases out to the Impala's trunk. Coming back in, all that was left was Sam and his backpack. John picked the backpack up, and started to walk out with it. "NO WAY! JUST LEAVE IT THERE!" John turned around and jabbed a finger towards his second son's face. "You're upset. But you don't get to tell me what to do, Sam." Sam was gonna be stubborn? Well, John could be, too. Where'd the boy think he'd gotten it from?

Sam gripped the armrests even harder, so hard his knuckles were turning white, and it was hurting his hand. He watched out the window with rising panic and anger as his dad opened the truck door, threw his backpack in, left the door open, and turned back to the motel. Sam started breathing so hard he was almost hyperventilating, and wrapped his ankles around the bottom of the chair legs just as John came back in. John just stood there in the doorway a moment, taking the pitiful scene in. He understood that Sam didn't like moving, that it was even harder because he was an omega, and it all but ripped his routines apart each time. But why did the boy have to make it even more difficult than it already was? Dean was an omega, too, but he certainly didn't throw fits like this about it! It was always just Sam... Well, there was nothing for it. It was gonna happen. Now to try and figure out how to get Sam out to the truck without drawing every nosy soul in town's attention...

John spoke quietly to the half-wild teenager clinging to the chair he sat in like a life-raft at sea during a hurricane. "Come on, Sam. Let's get out to the truck." Sam shrieked, "NO!!! I'M NOT GOING! AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" John snorted, he couldn't even get mad at a statement that absurdly ridiculous. He just took a breath, stepped closer, slowly, and kept his voice down. "I don't wanna make you, Sam. I want you to just get up and come with me. You come sit beside me in the truck. The radio's all yours, we'll listen to anything you want, Sam. And I'll let you pick us a place to stop for dinner later." Sam now looked torn, as though he couldn't decide whether to finish completely freaking out, or just break down and cry. "I don't wanna go, Dad..." John kept his voice soft, even as he reached out and gently gripped Sam's wrist. "I know, Sam. Just let go of the chair, OK, son...?" Sam didn't let go, but he didn't try to fight, either. He just sat and hyperventilated even harder. "Please..."

Then Dean walked back in, and all semblance of cooperation evaporated. As though his brother's reappearance reminded Sam of what was actually happening. He abruptly caught his second wind. "NO! LET GO OF ME! I'M NOT GOING!" John sighed. "Yes, Sam, you ARE. So come on. Now." "NO!" In one swift motion, John had pried his flailing son up off the chair and hoisted the long, lanky kid (that wasn't even done growing, yet!) over his shoulder. He began marching out to the truck. "Follow me, Dean. You get the doors." Dean nodded, all too familiar with this drill. John walked as fast as he could. As an omega, Sam wasn't anywhere near strong enough to accomplish anything with all his thrashing around, but a teenager throwing a tantrum could be pretty slippery, and John wasn't about to let him escape and start this all over again! Sam spent all thirty steps out to the passenger side of the truck kicking and shouting. "PUT ME DOWN! THIS IS SO NOT FAIR! I SAID I DIDN'T WANNA GO! DEAN, YOU FLYING JERK, WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HELPING HIM?" A tone of warning entered John's voice. "SAM. Settle down..." "NO!!! YOU WON'T EVEN LET ME SETTLE DOWN, 'CAUSE WE'RE MOVING AGAIN!!! LIKE FREAKING MIGRANT HOBOS, OR SOMETHING!" Yep, people from several doors up and down were now rubbernecking. Sigh...

John plopped his frantic child (because that was absolutely what Sam was acting like - a child) down in the truck seat. John's voice turned strict. "Sam. Settle down. You are getting buckled in, and we are going. The only choice you get to make here is whether you want to be in trouble, or not." If looks could kill, Dean would be dead from the one Sam shot at him, as he clicked the seatbelt together while John held Sam back against the seat. Sam kicked the seat and the dash furiously. "THIS IS SO JACKED UP! UPROOTING PEOPLE JUST SO YOU CAN GO KILL SOME SICK KNOTHEAD IN WASHINGTON! IF THERE'S ALPHAS IN WASHINGTON, WHY DON'T WE JUST STAY HERE WHERE THERE ARE NONE? WOULDN'T THAT BE SAFER?!" John grabbed Sam's face. "We're GOING, Sam. End of discussion. And I'm about to let go of you so I can get in and drive. And you are NOT going to unbuckle this seatbelt when I do. Do you understand?" Sam squirmed around beneath his dad's hands. "NO. I DON'T understand! I don't understand at all! I don't understand why you think it's so-" "SAM!" Now it was John's turn to get loud. "When I let go of you, are you going to stay seated and buckled? Or do I need to tie your hands?" Sam kicked the dash. "THAT'S FREAKING CHILD ABUSE! Gonna tie people up just so you can kidnap them and take off to another state? Like some creep in a Lifetime movie?" Dean's eyes popped with disbelief. And oh, NOW John was pissed! He grabbed Sam's face again, and spoke in a tone that would terrify most people. "ONE MORE WORD, SAM. No one is abusing anyone, I don't even wanna hear it. If anything, I'm trying to keep you from abusing yourself. So I'm telling you right now. I'm gonna let go of you, and I'm gonna go around and start this truck. If you undo that seatbelt, you will be VERY sorry you did, young man. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" A tear trickled down the side of Sam's face, as he choked out a whisper. "Yes, sir..." John sighed, and swiped at the tear with his thumb. "Alright, then..." He let go, and Dean closed the door. He would lean against it until his dad was in and had started up and started rolling - just in case. He watched Sam twitch and kick at the dash, balling his fists in his hair. Dean shook his head and muttered to himself. "Damn it, Sammy. Just roll with it..."

John got in, leaned over, and locked Sam's door. He then buckled himself in, locked his own door, and started the truck - watching Sam warily all the while. He pressed ever so gently on the gas, and observed Dean step back and get in his Impala. He turned out of the parking lot and onto the highway, as Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tugged at the hem of his shirt, making various incoherent noises of frustration...

Three hours later and well over two hundred miles down the road, John spoke again, softly, to his son that was busy chewing all his fingernails down to the quick. "Sam." The kid jumped, and glanced at him quickly before turning back to the window. Ignoring him. John sighed. "Sam. Look in the glovebox." Sam looked at him again, question in his eyes. John nodded at the glovebox. "Look in there, son." Sam hesitated, before sniffing and popping the button. Two thin paperbacks tumbled out into the floor. Sam picked them up and looked them over: an old mystery novel of some sort, and a collection of super-short philosophical essays on what it was that made humans special among all the species in the animal kingdom. John turned past a piece of tire in the road, still speaking softly. "I don't know what you like reading these days. But I found those at a garage sale I passed the other day. Figured you could use something to help pass the time during this trip. We've got another almost eleven hours to go." Sam's voice wavered, when he finally broke the sour silence he'd been keeping since they'd left. "Th-thanks, Dad." John smiled. "Just lay off your fingernails, 'fore they bleed. And make sure you read up and learn something you can use to confuse Dean with when we stop for supper. You haven't given him his useless factoid of the day, yet." When Sam smiled weakly, rubbed his eyes, and settled back into his seat with one of them after a second, John considered it 75¢ well spent. Hmm. Maybe he just needed to keep a stack of distractions on hand each move?


	27. Revelations and Religious Reflections

There was a hunt in Spicer, Minnesota, just a week or so before Christmas. Sam thought it was a tragedy that someone would have to die so soon before a holiday and miss out on possible good times with their family, but John refused to let himself think like that. It was a job that desperately needed doing, so he was going to get it done. If he let himself get too soft and sentimental, he wouldn't be worth a thing as a hunter...

The good part about it, though, was that it put them only about 100 miles from Adam in Windom! They had always just happened to be elsewhere when the winter holidays rolled around, so being this close, John was determined to see the boy. He brought it up during his weekly phone chat with Kate. He didn't know what kind of plans she had, if she meant to take the boy anywhere or do anything special with him, but even if she did, surely there would be some time either before or after when they could drop by for a short bit, before heading out again? Kate laughed at the convenient coincidence. She was scheduled to work a fourteen-hour shift that would carry over into Christmas Eve, and had just been talking to her neighbors, trying to find someone that wouldn't be too busy, and might be willing to baby-sit their eight-year-old that day. "So if you want to take him, John, I would actually be GRATEFUL. If you wanted to pick him up the afternoon before, and keep him that night and all day Christmas Eve, that would be wonderful. I'm sure he'd enjoy spending time with you and your other boys a thousand times better than he'd like sitting in Mrs. Grundy's living room watching the soaps!" So it was settled; they would be there to pick Adam up about 4:00 on the 23rd, and bring him back about 6:00, the 24th. John could hear his youngest get excited in the background, even as he watched Sam and Dean's faces light up out of the corner of his eye.

The ride down there couldn't go by fast enough, as far as any of them were concerned. How long had it been since they'd last seen the kid? Three months? Four? Sure, they TALKED to him every week, but that was hardly the same. John wondered if he'd grown much, but Sam and Dean, in the Impala behind him, were wondering about something else.

"Dude. You've got to smell him once we get there. And I mean take a GOOD smell. Figure it out for me. You've always been better at figuring out what a smell is." Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I ALWAYS smell him. I would smell him even without you hounding me to. Quit worrying. I mean, you've only said this every time we've gone for the last five years. I'll smell him. And I promise, I'll let you know what I smell!" Dean fiddled with the radio, that was picking up nothing but static and snippets of talk-show programs on this stretch of highway. "But you're presented now. Your smelling oughta be better than ever, so you'll HAVE to pick up on what I'm talking about, this time. I mean, it's not very strong. It's like it's... I don't know, hidden under there, or something. But you just GOTTA smell it this time. Miss Milligan's starting to think I'm crazy!" Sam smirked. "Well you know, Dean, we think you're crazy, too. Smells or no smells." Dean punched him lightly. "Wait'll I show you how crazy I really am. Fucking DRIVING people crazy..."

Getting a room at the same motel they always stayed at in Windom, they unloaded, parked the truck, and piled back into the Impala. A few minutes later they pulled into the Milligan's drive, where they could see Adam peering from the front window. Spotting them, he waved excitedly, before disappearing. Pulling gloves and hoods back on before crunching through the nine inches of snow, (FUCK it was cold in Minnesota!) they only knocked once before Adam yanked the door open and barrelled out at them. "DAD! Sam, Dean!" John snapped the kid up immediately, laughing as Adam rubbed his nose through fistfuls of his hair. Kate could be heard fussing as she rounded the corner. "Adam Milligan, you do NOT go outside without your coat. It's 28 below, out there!" Adam's fervent sniffing of John's head couldn't be interrupted, not even while he answered her. "But Mom, Dad's here! And he's got me, and he's plenty warm." Kate rolled her eyes. "Hi, John. Hi, boys. Come inside for a minute. Let me get his things for you." Knocking the snow off their boots, they shuffled quickly through the door, eager to reacquaint themselves with warmth, even after just the minute-and-a-half it had taken them to walk up from the car and nab Adam. (Did we mention how COLD it is, Christmas-time in Minnesota??)

As Kate walked off to go get Adam's backpack, coat, and gloves, Adam was squeezed tightly, before being set down and pushed over to Dean. They performed their usual slow neck-and-ear sniffing ritual, as Adam told them all about the store downtown with the crazy-big Christmas tree in the window, all lit up with purple and yellow lights and huge gold bows all over it. Dean, in turn, told Adam about the house they'd passed a few days ago that had a Santa Claus in a helicopter on it's roof. Dean sang the chorus to "Santa's Coming in a Whirlybird", which got a giggle out of Adam and Sam, both. It was as Kate was coming back with everything that Adam was pushed over to Sam. "Whoa. Sam, your eyes are like Dean's, now!" Sam grinned. "Yep!" (The last time they'd seen Adam had been about three weeks before Sam had presented, so it HAD been right at four months!) They started their typical sniffing frenzy, but it only lasted maybe an entire two seconds, before Sam froze and grabbed Adam's head, taking a much deeper sniff.

Adam giggled and tried to wiggle his head out of Sam's hands, but Sam wouldn't be thrown off. "Whoa, Adam. Hold up. Wait..." He sniffed again, slowly, deeply. His eyes got big - something Dean saw instantly. "You smell it, don't you? That underscent!" Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do..." He sniffed again, still holding Adam's head still. Dean pumped his fist. "TOLD you there was something! Been telling y'all for years! But Sam, man, what IS it?" Having handed Adam's stuff to John, Kate threw her hands up. "Alright. I don't know what this is, but I've got to finish getting ready to go to work in about an hour. So just let me tell him goodbye, and then you three can go sniff each other to your hearts' content, or whatever it is you do." All these years later, the sniffing still creeped her out a little! 

Sam reluctantly let go of Adam, who ran over and folded himself around his mom. "Bye, baby. I love you. Have fun, OK?" Adam nodded. "Yeah. Love you, too, Mom..." The only reason Adam didn't sniff all over HER, was because she had made it plain long ago that she didn't want him to. But Sam and Dean could always tell just how bad he wanted to! He got his surreptitious sniffs in, though... She began to bundle him up against the weather outside. Dean watched the mother/son exchange with a twinge of something like jealousy, an old pain he wouldn't let completely resurface. Sam, on the other hand, was too busy working his brain overtime on that SMELL to think of anything else...

Back out at the car, John climbed in the driver's seat, when all three of his boys piled in the back together, Sam and Dean on either side of Adam. They weren't even out of the driveway, yet, before Sam grabbed Adam's head again to sniff HARD at his neck. Adam squirmed. "What, Sam? I got something on me?" Dean was on pins and needles. "Yeah, Sam, what is it?" John was looking worriedly in the rearview mirror. He wanted to know, now, too! Sam sniffed again, running his nose slowly all up and down Adam's neck and under his chin. He was pretty sure he knew what he smelled, but he was double-checking, 'cause there was just no way. Couldn't be, could it? That would be just too-

"SAM! Just spill, already!" Dean looked ready to explode. "Dean, give him a second." John was trying to keep him cool from the front, though he was now getting impatient to know, too. Adam looked around at everyone nervously. "What? Am I OK? Is everything OK? Sam, what do you smell?" A minute or two went by, the tension in the car growing exponentially, before John had to bite his cheek not to yell. "Sam. If you know what the smell is, you'd best speak up. Now." Sam let go of Adam and lifted his head, with a look of amazement on his face. "He's like us, Dad. An omega. Adam's an omega."

For a moment, the silence in that car was a tangible thing. John's neck stiffened, a vein on the right side throbbing mightily. He killed the radio, took a deep, shaky breath. "Smell him again, Sam. You make absolutely SURE." Sam obligingly took another sniff, though he was positive, by now. "Yeah, Dad. Omega. Couldn't be anything else." Adam was squirming, unsure exactly what was going on. "Yeah?" John swallowed. "Dean. You smell him, too. Is that what you've been smelling all these years? Unpresented omega?" Dean buried his nose behind Adam's ear, sniffing with purpose. "I... yeah. I think so. Now that Sam's mentioned it, yeah." John's mind was too full to even call his sons on using 'yeah' instead of 'yes, sir'. "But are you SURE? I don't need to know what you THINK you smell. I need to know if he actually IS!" Dean took another sniff, leaned over to smell Sam, then sniffed Adam again. "Yeah, Dad. That's it. Omega. Couldn't never put my finger on it, probably 'cause I wasn't even thinking like that. But yeah, now that Sam's called it, that's it. I'm sure. Sorry I couldn't name it before, but... Adam's totally an omega. Smell's not quite like anything else, Dad." John turned right into the motel parking lot, parked, and sat there a minute, looking out the front window...

Hearing both his older boys confirm it twice, John took a moment just to process. So many things made sense all of a sudden. Adam's lack of strength compared to other children his age. How out-of-sorts Adam got if his eating and sleeping schedules were bent too much. The fact that Adam was still just as enthused with sniffing and being sniffed by his visiting family at eight-years-old as he had been at three-years-old - long past when a beta child might have grown tired of or embarrassed by the strange ritual. Adam's generally pliant nature. Because he was an omega. Of course! How did John miss seeing it before? Like Dean said, they just weren't even "thinking like that." But it made perfect, terrifying sense...

It was Adam that broke the silence. "So... I'm an omega? Like you and Sam?" He looked anxiously around at them all. "So, that means I'm gonna get rings in my eyes and a different smell when I'm big, too?" Adam was looking around for someone to help him understand. Sam was just about to open his mouth, when John sighed. "Let's get your stuff and get in the room, first. OK, sport? Talk in there." John got out and headed straight into Room 12, leaving Sam and Dean to get the stuff and Adam. John needed a minute.

He sat down on one of the beds, put his head in his hands. He didn't know what to think, what to do. It was too much. He'd thought that often enough over the years, but this might actually BE too much. Three omega sons? Three omegas was unheard of - but three MALE omegas? How the hell did that happen? It didn't, was the short answer. Omegas were just too rare, and males even rarer. Even families that had a "lot" of them generally only had one every other generation or so. For he and Mary to have had two was astounding enough. For John to have had a third? He wasn't sure he believed it. But what was he going to do? Call both his sons liars? Dean had been claiming to smell something on Adam for years, ever since he'd presented. And Sam had no reason to make that up. Indeed, he was more willing to believe Sam than Dean - Sam had always had a much sharper nose. His boys had been known to pull pranks, but they'd never outright lied to him. This was entirely too serious an issue to play around with, and they knew it. And they'd both said it more than once. He didn't feel as though he had much CHOICE but to believe them. It wasn't as though there were tests Adam could take. Blood tests only told whether someone was a carrier of certain genes; it took a lot more than just the presence of those genes to actually make someone an alpha or omega. All sorts of hormonal and environmental factors helped decide whether those genes would ever be activated, or not. Right up until the day Adam presented, there would be absolutely NO way to tell for sure - other than to trust what other alphas or omegas said they could smell...

Only a moment or two had gone by, before Dean, Sam, and Adam walked in the door, too. John still didn't have a good grip on what he wanted to say, but he knew he had to say something. You couldn't let a kid hear that they were an omega, and then push that under the rug. So John picked his head up and tried to smile. "Adam, kiddo. C'mere." Pushing his coat off and throwing it on the table, Adam plonked himself on John's knee. John took a minute just to hold the kid, to squeeze him tight and kiss his neck. "Love you, boy..." Adam nestled in closer. "Love you, too, Dad." John's heart lurched in his chest. Could the boy really love him? When he only showed up 3-5 times a year? Only even spoke over the phone once a week? Especially if the kid really was an omega, then the boy didn't need a visiting friend - he needed a FATHER around to protect him! John was suddenly overwhelmed, but he just closed his eyes and tucked the boy in tighter, feeling Sam and Dean scoot in on the sides.

Adam lifted his head after a moment. "So I'm an omega, too? Can you smell it, Dad?" John sighed and pushed a stray hair out of the kid's eyes. "No, I can't. I'm a beta, and betas don't smell as well as omegas like Sam and Dean. But THEY say they smell it..." He looked at his older two, and they nodded. Adam frowned. "I can smell pretty good. I'm probably the best smeller at school! So being able to smell stuff, and getting eye rings when I'm bigger? That's what that means?" OH, boy. John was NOT ready to have a sex-ed talk with an eight-year-old! Tell the kid too much, and Kate would have his balls... But Adam pushed the conversation a different direction. "What's a beta? And how come you can't smell stuff like me and Sam and Dean? Beta just mean your nose is messed up? I think Mom's nose is messed up. She can't smell food 'til it's right under her, and she wears all this yuck that stings my nose in her hair when she goes somewhere fancy with her friends, but she acts like it doesn't even bother her. I don’t think she can hardly even smell at all!” Big smiles all around. “Your mom’s a beta, too. MOST people are betas, Adam. Her nose isn’t messed up, it’s just not as strong, as sensitive as yours. Almost everyone in the world is a beta. Only a very few, like Dean and Sam and... you (swallow) are alphas or omegas.” Adam turned to look at John. “What’s an alpha?”

OH. Oh, shit. Alphas. Little boy didn’t even know what an alpha WAS, yet! Oh, Lord. Had he said too much? What would Kate want him to say? What did he NEED to say, regardless of how Kate felt about it? Sam and Dean were watching him, too. Closely. “Alphas. An alpha...” Deep breath. “Well, almost everyone is a beta. Regular, can’t-smell-as-good, no-eye-rings people? All betas. Like me and your mom. Like just about everyone else you’ll meet.” Adam blinked at him. “OK...” John sighed, again. (Yep. If they ever wrote his biography, that’s what it’d be called. ‘John Winchester Sighs’.) “Then there’s alphas and omegas. Only a relative few of you in the world. Kind of... kind of special. Alphas and omegas can both smell better than betas. But omegas like you boys, you have golden rings when you get big enough. Alphas, they have RED rings. Different.” Adam thought about that. “Oh. Well, that’s cool...” John’s heartrate sped up. Should he leave it there? Let Kate tell him the rest? But damn it, he was the boy’s parent, too, and this was what he’d spent most of his older boys’ lives dealing with! He kept talking, in spite of himself. “Alphas really like omegas - when you get bigger, they’ll really like the way you smell.” Adam nodded. Made sense. He liked the way his brothers smelled, too. Sure an alpha would like it! John swallowed, tried to think of a kid-friendly way to word it. “Alphas will like you and your smell. But alphas are a LOT stronger than omegas like you boys. They’re even a lot stronger than betas like me. And they can sometimes get a little, ah, a little too excited when they smell something they like.” John swallowed again, watching Adam take all this in. “I guess that’s why it’s hard for me to pick up heavy stuff? ‘Cause I’m an omega, not a beta or an alpha?” John nodded. “That’s right. But omegas do OTHER things well, so there’s no need to worry about that.” No sense letting the boy get bent out of shape about things that couldn't be helped. It was just biology. “But, ah, what I was saying. Omegas need to be very careful, Adam. So you’ll need to stay close to your mom, your teachers at school, or me when I’m here. It’s not always safe for omegas to run around by themselves, it’s better if you have someone around to protect you. Just in case some alpha smells you and gets too excited. Because a really strong alpha could, well, they could wind up hurting someone if they get too excited, and I don’t want you to get hurt. OK?” Adam looked back and forth between his dad and his brothers, all watching him intently. “OK.” John smiled and patted the kid’s thigh. “Good. Now that we know you’re an omega, that’s all I want you to do, Adam. Just listen to me and your mom, and try your best to be safe and careful. We’ll take care of you.” Adam nodded. “Yes, sir.” Pause. “So, do you take care of Dean and Sam? Even though they’re big?” John sighed. “I try to, Adam. I really try...”

They sat there, all snuggling together for a minute, before John looked out the window and noticed that they only had maybe 40 minutes ‘til dark. “So. Who wanted to get shooting practice in today?” Adam and Dean bounced up immediately. “ME!” “Yes, sir!” Sam just smiled and shrugged. John reached over and called the local shooting range, but they had already closed in anticipation of Christmas Eve. “Well. ‘Bout time you learned to shoot outside when it’s near dark, eh?” Adam grinned from ear to ear. “Yes, sir!” “Well, boys, hurry it up. Wanna get out there ‘fore it’s COMPLETELY dark.” A mad hustle was made out to the Impala, where Dean insisted on driving this time. John directed him to the nearest patch of woods that was only just far enough out of town for their shooting not to draw attention. There were still more than a few minutes of light when they got there. Sam and Dean started up right away, the drill old-hat for them. John helped Adam get set and started. How different it felt, how much more meaningful, now that he knew the boy was an omega! John felt sick to his stomach, that he couldn’t spend MORE time working with the boy. Oh, that this son might not be at a disadvantage for it! But John watched him, and thought that, well, maybe he wouldn’t be at TOO much of a disadvantage. For all that his youngest boy didn’t get near as much practice as the other two, he was something of a natural with firearms...

They finished up just as the stars were beginning to shine. They hadn’t done knives, yet, but that could wait for the morrow. Nighttime in Minnesota in the middle of winter was nothing to play with - people could and DID freeze to death! And Adam was getting a bit antsy for supper, anyway, used to eating about 6:00. So John drove them out to a place where he could add the discounts up: for his being a veteran, for Adam being under 12, and another buck or two off just because they knew them there, now. AND sometimes another little bit off, just because Dean always sweet-talked the owner’s daughter, who had taken something of a shine to him. That he didn’t mind the sight of her, either, only worked in their bill’s favor! John’s boys ate as heartily as ever, though he coaxed them along, all the same, knowing that wouldn’t much but fast-food be open the next day. They’d have to run by the grocery store before it closed, grab things to tide them through the holidays...

Back at the room, they kicked off their boots, put food away, and changed into old t-shirts and sweats. Well, the Winchesters did. Adam had actual pajamas (light blue with little white and silver snowflakes, complete with collar and cuffs) in his backpack, and a pair of light blue fuzzy houseshoes to match. Only the fact that Adam was eight, he didn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings, and they were obviously of his mom’s choosing kept Dean from saying anything about how ridiculously dorky he thought they looked. Though he did smirk...

John lay down on one of the beds, and was straightaway hidden under a pile of his sons. He stretched his neck and scooted back up against the headboard. “Oof. Ugnh. Watch the kidneys, boys...” But he didn’t really mind. Suffocating under all three of them was a blessing, really, just to have them all close. After a minute they finally got situated, with Sam curled around John’s left side with his head on John’s stomach and an arm draped over Adam, who lay back between John’s legs, and Dean’s head wedged under John’s right armpit, his left leg draped over Adam, foot propped on Sam’s elbow. John chuckled lightly at the odd picture they must have made. He started flipping through the channels, looking for something they could all four watch, as they lay there just enjoying the chance to wrap around each other this way. A minute went by with nothing in particular seeming to catch any of them’s attention, until Sam finally twitched and pointed. “That!” John paused. A religious channel, doing a re-enactment of the Nativity story. Huh... He looked down at his other sons. “You two fine with this?” Adam nodded, Dean shrugged. Hmm. OK, then...

They watched the entire 45-minute program in silence. A pregnant woman riding a donkey to Bethlehem, a tired man with a staff looking for a room, a harried innkeeper offering them space in a stable, trying to make amends for the poor lodgings by bringing them a blanket and water. A baby born. Excited shepherds that said angels had told them to come and see. Eastern wise men showing up with rich gifts for a king. A scene in a temple, where an old man and woman promised the confused young parents that this baby would do great things. Cut to three men dying on a hill, cut again to one of them rising from the dead. When it cut again to a preacher talking, John turned it off.

John looked down at his sons, all three of which looked thoughtful in ways they seldom did. He half expected Dean to make a joke of some sort, but he didn’t. John brushed a hand over his eldest's arm, and was surprised to hear him mumble out, “It’s a nice story. Almost wish I could believe it...” John had nothing to say. He didn’t know what he believed, if he even believed anything at all. Mary had had a vague sense of spirituality, maybe loosely related to some liberal, easy-going version of Christianity. She’d prayed with the boys when they were tiny, told them angels were watching over them, had a definite sense of right and wrong. But John’s parents hadn’t been religious, and he’d never felt particularly drawn to any of the varieties of worship he’d ever encountered. So he hadn’t taught his sons anything, not about religion. He left it up to them, hoped they’d be smart enough to tell good sense from bologna. Moments like this, though, he wondered if he ought not to have addressed it somehow. Dean seemed almost inclined to believe it, seemed to WANT to. Maybe he did, but wasn’t sure if John would approve? Little Adam wasn’t being raised in an overly religious household, either. Oh, John had spotted a Bible on the Milligan bookshelf, and Kate occasionally wore a thin necklace with a small cross on it, but he didn’t know just how much that meant, had never felt bold enough to ask. Sam, though? John was pretty sure Sam DID believe it - at least on some level. Not only did the kid pick THAT out of everything on TV that evening, but John had on numerous occasions spotted the boy reading the Bibles the Gideons left in the bedstand drawers. And when they went to Blue Earth and stayed over the weekend, Sam was the one he didn’t have to worry about behaving during Jim’s services. The kid actually listened, as though maybe he was hearing more than just John’s old buddy preaching a dry sermon. He knew the kid prayed, and prayed every day. John was pretty sure the kid thought he was keeping it to himself, but John saw the boy get on his knees in the middle of the night, when he thought everyone else was sleeping. Heard bits and pieces of the sweet prayers, asking safety for his family, help to be a better person, help to know what God wanted him to do. John hoped those prayers would cut it for the both of them. HE wanted to know what to do, too... Adam interrupted his chain of thought. “If everything in that movie’s true? Like church people say? Then I think that just means it’s gonna be OK. Like, He’s already taken care of everything. So it’s OK. Right?” John ruffled his hair. “Maybe, kid. Maybe.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, John was up, showered, and dressed long before his three sloth-like sons. For several minutes, he nursed the two cups of thin complementary coffee he'd brewed with the mini-machine on the corner of the sink. Soon, though, the satisfaction of watching his boys sleep in a jumbled pile was overtaken by the strong urge to get their lazy asses up and moving, so they could enjoy the day together! "MORNING, BOYS!", he roared as he ripped the curtains open. "RISE AND SHINE, KIDDOS!" Three simultaneous groans of equal pitch. Yep. They were definitely all related! "That's right! It's Christmas Eve, and I wanna see three smiling faces up and at 'em!" Only the knowledge that this was DAD yelling at them kept Dean's finger at bay. Fuck this, he was comfy... All three of them fidgeted a moment, as though THINKING of getting up, before they all just collapsed together again in a twisted heap of feet and arms. Adam wormed his way into Sam's side, clutching Dean's thigh. It was cute, but John only got just so much time with the kid. They couldn't spend it all sleeping! John gave all the legs he could reach a light pop. "UP, I said!" Adam jerked upright at the touch, eyes big. "Ah! What?" John grinned at him. "Oughta learn to obey first go-round. Said it was time to get up!" Adam glared suspiciously, before stretching, yawning, and flopping disjointedly off the bed to throw arms around John. "Uh. OK. Morning, Dad." Sam and Dean were each busy trying to kick the other out of bed, with their eyes still closed. John leaned down to Adam, and whispered, "They still seem half-asleep to me. Which one YOU wanna tickle awake?" Adam grinned evilly, and pointed at Dean, just because he was nearer. Which left John to sneak up behind Sam...

"AH! NO! Stop that!" "EEEEEKKK!" "I'm up, I'm up!" "NO! Too freaking early in the morning! Quit it, already!" John laughed, and signalled Adam to stop, too. "You ready to get up, then?" Sam squirmed away. "Ugh. Fine. I'm up..." John laughed and herded Dean into the shower. Normally they'd shower AFTER they ran, but it was cold enough there in Minnesota that John doubted they'd sweat enough to even notice that morning. They had probably sweat a lot more in their sleep-pile overnight than they would running out in the cold. Besides, the water would wake them up.

Bathed and bundled, they headed out the door, detouring FIRST by the motel's front that offered complementary donuts, muffins, juice, and coffee. (Dean HATED running on an empty stomach!) Having eaten as much as they could without making the lady behind the desk wonder if they were starving or practicing for an eating contest, they took off at only a slightly slower-than-usual pace, since they had Adam running with them. Adam was healthy and energetic, but he just wasn't USED to running every day the way they were. AND he was several years younger. So for the Winchesters, it was less a run, than a brisk jog. They didn't mind, though. It gave them time to enjoy the sun sparkling on the snow, the few birds that still hung around. It gave John time to think on all the training poor Adam was missing out on. Maybe he could talk Kate into letting the boy try for track and field, once he got into middle school? That might make up for the lack of daily morning runs...

Back in the room, having showered, eaten, and run, they were wide awake, now, and jostling around good-naturedly. Some sort of bizarre leaping and side-stepping competition was going on between the beds, something that involved throwing Sam's toboggan-style snow-hat back and forth while goozling Adam with linked arms. John didn't ask - he really didn't wanna know. He just grabbed three newspaper-wrapped boxes out of the bottom of his duffle and threw them on the table.

The 'thunk' and throat-clear? THAT got their attention! They spun around and stared. Sam may have been fifteen, and Dean may have been almost twenty, but they were just as excited as Adam. All three chirped in chorus. "Presents???" John sat down in one of the chairs. "That's not one for each of you. That's three for the three of you to share." Adam hurried over, eyes bright and curious. John just smiled and waved at them, giving them the go-ahead. Ripping into them, they found a box of candy canes, a deck of UNO cards, and a rather complicated war board game (used, previously owned) that involved collecting territories - somewhat like RISK, but using trivia from actual wars of the 19th and 20th centuries, with some math required. Sam was elated. Dean just looked it over, and stuck a candy cane in his mouth. But after a moment, they all turned back to John. "Thanks, Dad..." "Yeah, Dad. Thanks!" "Thank you!" John just smiled. "Just a little something for you boys. Since we're gonna be stuck in this room most all day." Three young faces grinned at him. Adam picked up the UNO cards. "Let's play this, first! Played this before at Jamie's house, so I already know how!" Dean didn't let Sam see the relieved look on his face. That other game looked like a tedious pain in the neck. Dad said they were all for them to share, but that one HAD to have been bought with just Sam in mind! 

And so the day went. The boys only played about 3500 rounds of UNO, John jumping into about half of them. A few hours later, Sam had begged, and pleaded, and used his most pitiful big-eyed face to utmost effect until Dean had FINALLY agreed to play what he was already dubbing the 'headache game' with him. John and Adam played, too, of course, but as a team, since the box labeled the game as being for Ages 12 and Up. Adam was a bright kid, though, and spotted many a good move that John missed. Dean, overestimating how many soldiers and tanks he could spare for a rout, (and very distracted by his blueberry-flavored candy cane) was soon swamped and overcome - not that he gave a flying flip. He sat back and watched, as Sam and John/Adam pushed neck and neck, battling every inch of territory on the board, haggling over every scrap bit of ammo that could be obtained. Dean decided that watching THEM play was more fun than actually playing. Adam was cool and composed, the placid but powerful paper-pusher behind this war, distributing cards and reading the rules when questions arose. John was the initiator, constantly striking out at odd times with odd moves and odd combinations of weapons, never still, forever trying to throw Sam for a loop. But Sam? He'd sit there for the longest - the LONGEST - and seem to just be moseying along, paying his floundering troops little mind. Then all of a sudden, when you least expected it? He'd squeak with malicious delight, and take half of everything on the board off, cackling like some cheesy movie villain! He was clearly having ENTIRELY too much fun. It became obvious that he was cooking and scheming when he was quiet, but you could never tell WHAT. He gave no clues...!

Naturally, Sam won. Not by so very much, but he won, all the same. After puffing out and grinning, he was quick to praise his competition for all THEIR clever moves, and propose a re-match - just to see what all they might have learned. Dean waved him off, and Adam looked at John, who pushed back from the table and said it'd been fun, but he had a couple phone calls to make, so they could have at it. Sam deflated a little, so Dean rolled his eyes and said that maybe, MAYBE, if they got trapped in a blizzard or something, then he MIGHT play again. Sam issued him a FACE, followed by an eye-roll and a sudden, unexpected hug. "OK, Dean. When you're REALLY bored, I'll be here to play it with you." Dean pushed him off, and started a wrestling match. Adam bounced on the side of the bed, giggling whenever one of his brothers' was flipped over and/or pinned. After the third time Sam let go of his arm, Dean reached over and grabbed Adam. "Gonna giggle at ME, huh? I'll show you!" Adam was thrown over his shoulder sideways and tickled mercilessly as Dean ran around in circles. (Which, for a weak omega, was actually quite the feat!) "I'm freaking ferocious, who DARES giggle at me?" He tossed Adam into the middle of the bed, where Sam caught his legs, rolled him into a ball, and sat on his butt. "Haha! Now YOU'RE pinned!" Adam tried wiggling away, but Dean soon had his head, and was snuffling so hard at his neck that he squealed. What had started almost like a wrestling match was soon just three boys going ape-shit on an old motel bed, all laughing, giggling, and squeaking. On the phone, Bobby wanted to know if John was at a circus, or were cows stampeding out of a slaughterhouse? John sighed. "That would be my sons, Bobby. All three of my omega sons..." 'Cause yeah, while they were all busy being rowdy and making enough racket to compete with a Pink Floyd concert in Nashville? Was a perfect time to tell his friend about what ELSE he now knew he had on his plate...


	28. Pastor Jim

John didn't tell Kate. She wouldn't have believed him, and he certainly couldn't prove it. All he had for evidence were a few of their child's habits and behaviors that could just as easily mean nothing, and his older sons' senses of smell. She wouldn't be convinced her with any finality that their son was an omega - at least until the boy presented! It would be a waste of time to agitate her for nothing, not when there would still be some six to eight years yet before the boy would become what he would. So John refused to let himself think TOO deeply about it, not until they had dropped Adam off and started getting ready to leave and get on the road again.

Which was a challenge in and of itself, of course, because Sam NEVER wanted to get on the road again. Dean was a little blue about leaving Adam, and Adam was always sorry to see them go, but Sam ESPECIALLY did not want to part, and DEFINITELY not this time! John was grateful, though, that he at least waited until after Adam was back with his mom before REALLY starting up. It wasn't until they were back at the room again and packing everything up to go that he pitched his true prize-winner of a fit, throwing things and yelling, INVENTING new cusswords as he went along. He called John everything in the book, accusing him of every variety of cruelty and hatefulness. HE DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE! The only reason John put up with it, and didn't beat Sam's rear to a pulp for daring to speak to him that way, was that for one, he could literally SEE the panic, desperation, and hurt in his kid's eyes, and then two? John really didn't feel much like leaving, either. He didn't, he really didn't, so he could empathize. It had been a wonderful visit, in spite of the stressful news that had broken, and John was loathe to see it end, too. He would have given the moon to stay right there in Windom, to watch all three of his boys horse around and act like happy young morons together, to include Adam in all of the self-defense training his other two got, and hold them all close in those evenings that Kate would let him have him. God knew that was what he wanted. But that just wouldn't... he didn't feel right about it. Just being WITH his boys wasn't really enough to keep them safe. He'd been with his family the night that monster got in and slaughtered Mary! No, John was a 'hunter', now. He was a specially trained, networked, and educated 'hunter', and he was sure that it was now his DUTY to eliminate threats BEFORE they broke into homes and broke families apart. The best way to keep his boys safe was to go out there and get rid of anything that might not BE safe, not sit and wait for it to show up when they least expected it! He owed them that, even if poor Sam didn't see it that way. 

The plan was to drive over to Blue Earth to check in with Jim about a few things and stay Christmas, before driving on to Ohio, where he was to wait in case the call was made to take an alpha there out. It might be a hunt, but it might not. Only time would tell. But they needed to get to Blue Earth, first. Blue Earth wasn't really all that far, though, and they would stay the night and through Christmas, so in the face of the truly epic fit Sam was throwing, John made an unusual decision - they would take only one vehicle. Once in Blue Earth, John could leave Sam with Jim, and bring Dean back with him to get it, or (more likely) just give the keys to the truck to Jim, who could have someone else out running around bring it to him, there. It was extra hassle, it was true, but Sam was so very worked up that anyone might have thought he needed a tranquilizer, and John just didn't have the heart that evening to actually tie him down to the seat, or to spank him into accepting that they were leaving. NOR did he have the time to wait for Sam to calm down all on his own - assuming the kid even would! So loading everything into the Impala's trunk, he told Dean to close the door behind him, while he himself wrestled Sam into the back with him, arranging his overgrown child on his lap in such a way that he could pin the wildly thrashing arms and legs and just hold the frantic, spastic young fighter against him. Poor Dean was confused as hell, and REALLY frustrated, but knew better than to question his dad during stressful moments like these. So he just shook his head, got in, and drove off.

Sam? Sam fought being manuvered and held with an unholy fury that would have been truly frightening, had he been anything but a fifteen-year-old omega. The RAGE that poured off of him might have cowed an army equipped with nuclear missles, if they couldn't see the weak boy from whence it issued! John was strong for a beta, but he wasn't too proud to admit to Jim later that holding Sam down in that car had been something of a struggle! Sam didn't just wiggle, he bucked and rolled, trying his best to kick, to hit, to bite, to do anything at all. He yelled, cussed, SCREAMED. A few times Dean flinched and actually jerked the wheel, totally shocked at a fresh new wave of pandemonium from the backseat. John refused to lose his cool, though. His mind full of Adam, and the fact that he had THREE omega boys to protect, he was too... something, to even have any cool to lose. He just held the boy, told him to quieten down, already. The vitriol Sam shot back just bounced right off. John knew the kid didn't really mean any of it, that he was just scared and angry, hurt that he was being removed from a comfort zone, again...

The entire trip only took just over an hour, but it was nearly that long before Sam finally calmed down, some. Well, if you considered sobbing, trembling, and sniffing his dad's shoulder calmed down. At least he stopped fighting, stopped the damn SCREECHING. Dean breathed a little easier, even though he was still uneasy. It didn't feel right, just driving while Sam was suffering. He wanted to be back there, too...

John didn't let go right away. Just sat there and held the boy, let him cry it out and sniff him all he pleased. Slowly, slowly, over the course of a few minutes, he EVER so slowly loosened his grip on the kid. But Sam didn't go anywhere, gripped onto his dad maybe even tighter than his dad had been gripping him. He curled up in a ball on John's lap, clenching his shirt and pressing his nose to his dad's throat, weeping. John sighed, patted the kid's back. He should probably say something, something to reassure the boy, but nothing was coming to mind. So he just sat there and held him in silence, rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam's neck. It took more than a few minutes for Sam to get to where he could really even breathe well, again, the tears slowing to just a trickle. He stuffed his nose in John's armpit, (of all places) and just sat there, quiet, as John kept up the petting of his neck. A few more minutes went by. John thought the kid might be falling asleep, when barely more than a whisper floated up to him. "Why?" John looked down, thought a moment, sighed. "You know why, Sam." A sniffle. "I hate it..." John half-smiled. "You've made that pretty damn obvious." Another sniffle, a choked sob that morphed into another whisper, "What about Adam?" John dropped what was left of his smile. Sigh. "He'll be alright. He's got his mom." A not-so-choked sob. "WE don't! Would we stay if we did, Dad? Is that why we move?" John could see Dean stiffen, reach to turn the ring on his finger, even as he drove. Why did the boy have to ask questions like that in the car? He couldn't hold both boys in the car! Sam wouldn't be ignored. He tugged with re-rising panic on John's shirt. "Would we? Would we, Dad?" He could hear Dean's agitated breathing, though he was trying his best to keep it hidden, though his hands shook just enough that the car could just barely be felt to weave back and forth...

"Pull over, Dean. Now." It was said gently, but still shocked Dean. What, was Dad mad NOW, after all that? He pulled over on the side of the highway quickly, looked back anxiously. But John wasn't anything like mad. "Back here with us, Dean." Dean didn't need to be told twice; he scrambled to leap out the front, ran around to crawl in beside Sam, slamming the door and rubbing his nose all over his little brother's shoulder. Sam squeezed him with his leg, hiccupping. John sighed, reached one hand over to pet Dean. "Boys." They looked up at him. "I wish..." He swallowed. Damn it, he was trying to work up the nerve to say things he never said, never had any desire to say, would rather not ever. But... "Wish things were different, boys. But they aren't." Swallow. "Dean's grown. Sammy, boy, you're NEAR grown. You know, you know why things are like they are. Never tried, never gonna try to convince you that all this is what I wanted, what anyone really wants. It's just what is. You can't... you can't let the 'what ifs' drive you crazy. No one's any good, crazy. You just gotta take whatever's left, try to do something halfway worthwhile with it." A moment went by. "That's all I wanna do, boys. Something worthwhile. I can't bring your mama back. God knows I wish I could, but I can't. But boys, I CAN keep other kids from maybe losing theirs. That may be small comfort, but boys... You just gotta take comfort in whatever size package it comes." He swallowed again, pet them slowly. "Please, boys. Tell me you understand that." Dean's voice was small, quiet. "Yes, sir. I do." John looked down at Sam. "Sam?" Sam didn't say anything, just lay against him, his eyes squeezed shut. John stroked his hair. "Sam?" Sam choked out a barely-audible whisper. "Yeah." Pause. "Still hate it. Always hate it." John just brushed a thumb over the kid's neck. After all, he'd just told the boys to take what you can get, and this might be about as good as he would get, that day. "Dean. You good to drive?" The boy sat up - the man, now, really. "Yes, sir." John patted his arm. "On into Blue Earth, then. Just a few more miles. Jim's waiting on us."

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Jim walked out his door when they pulled up. Christmas Eve services had been over for a couple hours already, so he'd had time to start something warm and filling for supper. There was plenty of time before he would have to go back for the quiet little midnight service that would be held, later. Jim took in the fact that John was climbing out of the BACK, saw the man's wet, wrinkled shirt, Sam's still-red eyes, Dean's generally unsettled air, and the weary expressions they all wore. He said nothing about any of it, just welcomed them into his house with all the quiet hospitality they'd come to expect from the man of God. "John. Boys. Please, come in, I've got a meal ready. Been waiting on someone to share it with..." John shook his friend's hand with real gratitude. "Thank you, Jim. We the only ones...?" Jim knew what he was asking, and nodded his head. Thankfully, there were no dying omegas staying with him just then. He ushered them in out of the cold, and into the living room. Hanging up coats and hats, they followed him into the dining room, where the table was set for four, with an enormous pot of thick beef/vegetable stew in the center. Pouring himself and John a cup of coffee, and them all a glass of tea, he urged them to sit. "The bread, the rolls, and the apple-cranberry cake? Christmas gifts from Mrs. Elgrin and Mrs. Swamby. They'll be thrilled to know their baking fed hungry travellers." Dean grinned. "And the stew?" Jim laughed. "That's MY cooking. Can't blame those sweet ladies for THAT!" Even Sam smiled a little at that.

They sat quiet as Jim gave thanks for the food, for the people that made it, for people to eat it with, and their safe arrival. Quiet 'amens' were muttered the moment he finished, and eager hands reached out quickly to grab bread and fill bowls. Jim wasn't fazed a bit, though, and just smiled. "Easy, boys. There's plenty, and plenty of other things in the kitchen if this isn't enough. No need to worry, I won't let anyone go hungry in here today." John LOOKED at them, and they had just enough decency to look almost ashamed - for a second. Dean slathered a roll with butter, stuffed it in his mouth, and moaned. "WOW. Tell Mrs. Whoever-You-Said that these ROCK." Sam took a bite of his own. "These ARE good..." Jim nodded. "Every Christmas, birthday, and Clergy Appreciation Day, she blesses me with a panful. If she ever gave me anything else, I'd be sorely disappointed." Turning to John, he made small-talk about traffic, before shifting the conversation around to business. Sam and Dean paid no attention, focusing instead on devouring the entire 2.5-gallon pot of stew. John and the pastor both managed to obtain a second helping before it was all gone, Jim saying something softly again about taking it easy. Then there was CAKE! Okay, so it wasn't pie, but glazed with a paste that was mostly real maple syrup and cinnamon? It was a very close second, as far as desserts went! Jim urged them to try it with buttermilk, but only John was THAT adventuresome with his food. He said it was good; his sons just looked at him. 

They all sat quietly a few minutes, letting their dinner digest, before John waved at his boys to clear the table and clean up. Jim started to object, seeing how they were HIS guests, but John cut him off. "Oh, it's an easy enough job here. You've got a dishwasher, and everything. Least they can do, after you've fed us your Christmas presents." Jim couldn't let that one ride. "John, that's hardly how gift-giving works. Dinner was my gift to YOU. I give because I've received TO give. Supper with me is hardly something that has to be earned; it's my pleasure!" But John would argue 'til the cows came home. "And a preacher ought to see the value in me teaching my boys to SHOW their thanks, to roll up their sleeves and help out, not be bums just taking handouts." Jim sighed with a smile. "Alright, John. Point conceded." Sam and Dean made short work of it and then wandered off to go settle themselves in a guest room. John and Jim continued to sit right where they were.

"That bad of a ride out here, John?" John shook his head, gave Jim the condensed version of the apocalyptic disaster that carting Sam down had been. Jim looked thoughtful, and went into 'pastor' mode. "It IS rough on them, omegas, moving. So it's good you stayed calm, showing Sam how. All the same, don't let him use his designation as an excuse to dishonor you, John. That level of violence and disrespect is worrisome. When he calms down after a scene like that, you should be sure and gently make clear just how unacceptable and inappropriate his words and actions were." John snorted. "Thought you knew me, Jim. I don't let my boys get away with much at all, ESPECIALLY disrespect. If he'd carried on that way any other time, under any other circumstance, I'd have blistered his tail for him right there in the parking lot before we ever even left." Jim's thoughtful look remained. "Well." Pause. "So what was it that made this time so much different, then?" John's face fell. "I called Bobby, but I haven't even told you, yet." He rubbed his hands across his face. Something akin to but a bit milder than despair shrouded John's features. "My other boy, Adam. Jim... Jim, he's an omega, too." 

Now, Jim had been a pastor for years. He had heard a lot of things from a lot of people. Not much caught him off guard any more. But THAT surprised him, stunned him, really. "A THIRD omega son? John, are you sure? That can't be right, there must be some mistake. John, the odds of any one man having THREE, and all male? Those kind of odds are... John, that doesn't HAPPEN!" John flipped a hand up on the table, gesture of helplessness. "I know!" 

They sat there in silence a minute, the weight of that information sitting on them heavily. Finally, Jim spoke quietly. "John. He's eight, right? He hasn't presented..." John shook his head. "No. But Sam has, and he smells it on him. And Dean's been claiming to smell something he couldn't identify on the boy ever since HE presented. They agreed this time that that's what it is - that Adam's an omega." John paused. "I know two boys' noses aren't much to go on, but Jim, you know omegas can smell each other. And my boys may be typical, rowdy boys in a lot of ways, but at least they're honest - they don't lie to me. If they say they smell it, I'm inclined to believe 'em." Another pause. "And Jim? It just FITS. I'd never considered it, but so much about the kid makes sense in that light. Adam, he's... he ACTS like an omega. He's funny about his schedules. He has a fantastic sense of smell. He's weak for a kid his age. And he's always easy to convince, easy to talk into things. Not gullible, just... A roll-over. Pliant." He snorted. "Like every omega that isn't Sam." Jim smiled. "Oh, Sam's agreeable enough. Trust me, he isn't so VERY difficult - not compared to many kids I've seen that really are! He just... lets you know when he doesn't feel like he's being treated like an omega ought to be." John huffed. "But really, Jim. He does. Now that I look back on it, Adam's ALWAYS acted like an omega. You just wouldn't think it, because he's still a kid. But if a teenager acted that way, it wouldn't be such a stretch." Jim's thoughtful look was back. "I'd never call you a liar, John, because I know you aren't. Well, except for the credit card scams..." A look was flashed at John, but ignored, so Jim went on. "It's just a... a hard thing to believe. Families might go several generations without an alpha or omega. To believe that you've fathered THREE is... difficult to swallow. Rather UNbelievable, really." John put his head on his hands that were folded together. "I know, Jim. I know." A moment of silence. "If you'd like, John, I can get other omegas to smell him, too. Third and fourth opinions?" John looked up. "Yeah. Maybe. When I have him, next. His mother still doesn't know. Didn't see any point in telling her, not so many years before he presents." Jim nodded. "We'll do that, then." 

Jim turned a compassionate eye on his friend. "Are you OK with it, John?" John stared at the table. "Guess I have to be. Nothing I can do about it." That hung in the air, a minute. "It's not that I don't want him to be. Want him to be whatever he is! But..." John's composure began to crack, the quiet, stoic man letting loose a verbal torrent that was tinged with a little of the panic he'd tried to talk Sam down from. "We know how DANGEROUS it is, what he'll be up against when he's older. With three of them... What am I supposed to do? I can't work, travel, support a family, guard THREE omegas, AND hunt! How am I supposed to protect him? I've got all I can handle just with my other two. I don't live with him, can barely afford to care for the two that do stay with me! We're only scraping by because I drag them around with me, to do the kind of things it's your job to frown on. I can't keep an eye on him like I do with Sam and Dean. I mean, his mother's a nurse, at least, but-" Jim touched his friend's arm to interrupt. "NO parent can fully protect their children. That sense of fearsome risk around every corner? It's just a part of being human after the Fall, part of what He was born to die and save us from. But I know that you will do the best you can. And your boys are ever in my prayers." John looked up, that hint of desperation still in his eye and voice. "Jim. You're a pastor, a counselor. I can't watch after all three of them! Tell me, what do I DO?" Jim hummed. "You do what you can do, John. And as a pastor? I'd tell you to lay your burdens at the feet of One that can do anything." John blinked, rubbed his face. "And NOT as a pastor? What would you tell me as an old friend?" Jim looked serious. "As your friend? I'd urge the same, John. They are His, first. He cares for them. And He cares for you." For a moment, John seemed to think on that. Like a little wheel was turning. Jim hoped...

Then John abruptly sat up straight and patted Jim's arm. "You've been a good friend, Jim. And I'm sure you're a great pastor. Haven't met many people that've always made me so welcome, opened their everything up to me. You're a good man, Jim." And with that, John sat up, finished his coffee, and made clear with his expression that THAT conversation was done. Jim smiled sadly, whispering to himself as he got up to go get some information he'd been asked to pass along to John. "Almost persuaded..."

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Meanwhile, in the guest room, Sam and Dean had kicked off their shoes and flopped down on the bed. Sam was quiet, still a little subdued after his earlier meltdown and then dinner. He curled up on his side, just lay there a minute. "Dean?" Dean rolled over to look at him. "Yeah?" Sam shifted. "You mad?" Dean sighed. "Nah. Kinda used to you freaking out." Sam frowned. "Gee. Thanks." Dean smirked. "You're welcome. Though you should really quit that shit..." Silence reigned for a moment, before Sam rolled over and snuggled into Dean. "Think Dad's mad?" Dean rolled onto his back, shook his head, and scratched Sam's. "Think you'd know if he was." Sam scooted in closer, put his head on Dean's shoulder. Whispered, "Didn't wanna leave. It smelt right, didn't wanna go. The room... the room still smelt like all of us. Like me and you, Dad and Adam." Dean stared at the ceiling, petting his brother's hair and arm. "Yeah..." He sighed. "Least we got something to look forward to? It'll smell like that again, next time we visit." Sam closed his eyes, let a few minutes go by, just enjoying Dean's hand in his hair, soaking up strength and comfort from his older brother that he thought never seemed quite as destroyed by things. But then he had to ask. The conversation between John and Adam when they'd first gotten back to the room after he'd said what he smelled on him kept replaying. "You think Adam's gonna be OK? Safe?" Dean's eyes and voice instantly sharpened with conviction. "If me and Dad have anything to do with it...!"


	29. A Couple More Years Go By...

A couple busy years went by. Jim got a few of the omegas he took in from time to time to smell Adam, and they ALL confirmed that yes, Adam was one, too. The Winchesters were able to spend a bit more time with him, once John talked Kate into letting him have the boy for a solid month in the summers. The excitement that buzzed when they drove out to get him that first time was almost visible. John had chosen a slow month, one when there weren't any hunts expected, so he had time to take the boys up to northern Maine, to camp out near a lake just south of the Canadian border, so that they could miss out on much of the June/July heat, being that far north. They had a marvelous time, nearly the whole month spent out-of-doors. They hiked, swam, shot guns and arrows (John trying to make up for all the weapon training Adam had missed over the years), ate wild berries, and stared at the stars half the night. Sam even took it on himself to teach Adam how to use the atlatls. It annoyed Dean, being surpassed in the use of a weapon by BOTH his little brothers, one eleven years younger...!

John had intended to keep calling Kate each week, to let her know that their boy was alright, but that plan was quickly abandoned in favor of calling her every evening, after Adam unexpectedly burst into tears on his fifth night with them. It caught them all completely off guard. They had been sitting around their small campfire, finishing supper, goofing off. Adam began to grow quiet, but no one thought anything of it, until he jumped up and threw himself in John's lap, crying. A frenzied moment had been spent trying to figure out what was wrong, whether the boy had somehow gotten hurt, or something, before John realized with guilty relief that the kid was just missing his mom. He held the boy close and rubbed his neck, trying to soothe him, and pulled out his cell phone. After a minute or two of shifting around to figure out how to get and KEEP the faint signal that was only barely there out in the woods, he called Kate and explained the situation, before handing the phone to Adam. Adam was overjoyed to hear her voice again, and reassured her that no, he didn't really wanna come home just yet. He just missed her! When John got back on with Kate, they decided that it would be best to let Adam call home each evening. Adam was having the time of his life, but he had never been more than two nights away from his mom during other visits with his dad, and it was a distressing rip in his routines not to have contact with her for so long. The nightly phone calls seemed to solve the problem, though, so John called it a win.

John could afford those months off work each summer, because with his other two getting older, he felt better about taking them out with him to gamble a lot more often - sometimes as often as four or five nights a week. And Sam was now old enough to find part-time, after-school jobs. The maybe $50 a week (if that) that Sam brought in working at various 'Burger Doodle' jobs covered most of his own little expenses, like lunch money, deodorant, and yes, pads. With all three of them working AND hustling cards and pool, they were OK, at least not really hurting for anything. John began to be able to put a very few dollars aside each week, in preparation for a month of NOT working when they had Adam.

Also, Adam seemed to have somehow developed a thing for baseball. Sam and Dean weren't quite sure HOW, since they'd never had more than a passing interest in sports, themselves. They'd had a few minutes of fun tossing a baseball around in the yard with Bobby a couple times when they were kids, but they'd never really been bit by that bug. But Adam had, and spent those portions of summer that he wasn't with them playing Little League. John, of course, was thrilled that his kid had found something physical to get involved with, something that would keep him in an exercise regimen without requiring all the brute strength that he just simply didn't have as an omega. If he couldn't be with John and go through all the training he put Sam and Dean through, regular baseball practices might just be the next best thing! They managed to get up there and watch him play a handful of times over the years, and apparently he wasn't bad at it, at all. Kind of good, actually. Sam and Dean may not have given much of a hoot about ball games, otherwise, but when it was THEIR little brother making the catches and sliding into home? Yeah, they could get a little excited, then! Dean would strut around like a peacock, letting all the fine young women in attendance at those games know that that was HIS little bro doing the winning, 'cause awesomeness was probably genetic, you know? It got him a smack in the back of the head from John, but hey, he had to try...! Actually, Sam and Dean were surprised at just how enthused and knowledgable about the game their dad was. Did Dad like baseball all this time, and they never knew? John shrugged. "Played when I was a kid, and in high school. Was a thing for us servicemen to kill time with when we were off-duty overseas. Most everybody was into baseball, back then." Sam and Dean looked at each other. Huh. OK!

As for Dean in those years, he finally learned to just quit pretending, and just go ahead and TELL girls he wanted that he was an omega. He really hadn't thought that he would need to, thought his eye-rings made that fact plenty obvious, but apparently there were a LOT of girls that had paid even less attention in health class than he had, girls that just had no clue. And it didn't take very many times of him trying to be with a girl that didn't know before he figured out just what a bad idea that was. More than once he found himself apologizing and trying to explain, when some girl mistook all the fluid he leaked for him peeing in their bed! That never went over very well. MUCH better to let them know ahead of time! Was always embarrassing as hell to explain, and it got him turned down quite a bit, but at least the girls that DID say yes in spite of it were prepared, and didn't slap him or run him off when it happened. And hey, sometimes he'd tell one girl and get rejected for it, but another would overhear and think it was hot...!

And, of course, Dean turned twenty-one. Meaning that he now had every legal right to get as drunk as he pleased. John HAD, just like he'd said, let Dean have the occasional beer inside the room with just him. Unfortunately, where for most people beer was an acquired taste? Dean actually liked it right off the bat, which worried John just a little. Sam he wasn't as concerned with, since he'd tried a sip or two, made a hint of a face, and said it was "OK". Dean, though, had chugged half of one, breathed, swallowed the rest, and then asked for another! "Not tonight, Tank." But once the kid was twenty-one, John wasn't going to interfere. He knew he COULD, since not only was the boy an omega that he could take blindfolded with one arm behind his back, but he also knew good and well that Dean adored him, and would never in a million years defy a direct order from him, let alone run off or get the law involved to protect his rights. But John wouldn't give him any reason to even think to. Dean was an adult, so he was going let him have room to be one. All he told him was, "Don't you DARE drive drunk. You're somewhere and have more than two or three, you call me, and I'll come get you. Or if you're in the room and have more than a couple, then you sit right here. But don't you dare get behind the wheel of that car if your mind isn't right. Losing your license or having to rot in jail a few nights might be the least of what could happen. I don't wanna bury you, son." Dean promised he wouldn't, and as far as John knew, he never had, yet.

But it was probably Sam that had the most little adventures. Primarily the adventure of trying to find something to wear that would fit, because not long after presenting, he hit another growth spurt - one that didn't let up or slow down much for years! John was tall, and Dean had turned out fairly tall, so it was no stretch to imagine that Sam would, too. But he rapidly outgrew his older brother, and if he kept it up at the same rate, would soon overtake John, too! The first realization that the top of Sam's head was now not just even with, but actually slightly higher up there than Dean's had been followed by about a week's worth of Dean scowling, and Sam smirking. John was glad, really. The boy being so tall might at least make BETAS think twice about bothering him, even if it didn't faze alphas, any. But Dean wasn't about to take it lying down. "You smile it up, you freaking Sequoia. I'm still the big brother here, you know!" Sam smirked. "BIG brother? You sure?" He got tackled and sat on. "Yeah. BIG brother, Sammy." Dean bounced on Sam's guts for good measure. "BIG brother. So you can kiss my ass, General Sherman." Sam saluted, still smirking.

Oh, and Sam learnt to drive, too. Teaching Sam wasn't really any harder than teaching Dean, since Sam had ALSO grown up watching John from the backseat. The main difference teaching Sam, was that Sam was so cautious it would drive you mad. Sam was a double and even triple-checker of everything, and stopped at every 'STOP' sign even when they were quite obviously the only vehicle out and about for at least ten miles. He maybe didn't take corners quite as gracefully as Dean, at first, but he learned quickly, and soon there were THREE of them to take turns driving. Again, the momentous occasion was celebrated with Icees/Slurpees/Freezies for everyone!

But a much more pressing issue was Sam's scent. He took 'scent suppressants', and they certainly helped, but Sam's smell was still stronger than Dean's, and detectable from much further away. It made for some interesting episodes at school. At most schools, of course, there were nothing but betas, so there was no one to really notice, much. Betas could only smell just a tiny hint of something near him, but it meant nothing to them. But the few times he went to a school with another alpha or omega, it stirred up all sorts of chaos. In Syracuse, New York, a young alpha that had never smelt an omega before actually walked out in the middle of a class after Sam went by in the hall, and followed Sam's scent trail all over and across the building and up into another classroom! Thankfully, that alpha was a fairly decent, harmless kid that had just wanted to find out what smelt so fantastic, so it hadn't been a really dangerous situation, but it still stressed John out to hear about it, after. Another scenario had played out in Dallas, while John was still there in the office getting Sam registered and transferred in. An alpha out in the hall had burst in, demanding to know what and where it was. Before anyone could respond or even blink, his focus had narrowed on the tall kid shaking and trying to hide behind John. He didn't make any sudden moves, (or John wouldn't have hesitated to throttle him, right there in the office with everyone watching!) but froze and started speaking softly, introducing himself to Sam. The office staff, of course, quickly got their wits about them again, and escorted him back out and to his classroom, ignoring his quiet growl. Turning back to the secretary, John tapped the Form A/B/O-0123 laying on the counter and said, "And THAT is what I want prevented! None of THAT!" It took a minute of John rubbing Sam's neck (and a trip to the restroom) to get the kid to calm down again...

Sam's smell was even affecting John's hunts. He learned that he needed to go back and shower after dropping Sam off at school, or else have Dean drop Sam off, because more than one hunt had nearly gone wrong when the sick alpha he was trying to sneak up on smelt hyper-fertile omega on him from half a football field away. Once in North Carolina, an alpha, (who had a gun of his own in hand!) had actually turned around and started chasing John! Which THAT time might have actually been a good thing, making the hunt MUCH easier. Because he was being chased and was in an undeniably threatening situation, John had been perfectly free to just shoot the bastard right there out in the middle of the street. All the witnesses as well as the cops that showed up a couple minutes later were unanimous that John shooting the man was a clear-cut case of self-defense. There wasn't even any clean-up or hiding for him to do; the cops took care of it all. John walked away from THAT one scot-free. But he was still careful from then on, because as well as that had gone, he knew it might not always be so easy, or end so well! The Winchesters really should have bought stock in the companies that made the strong spray-deodorants they used such copious amounts of...

But it was the omega Sam went to school with in Louisville, Kentucky that Sam would have considered the highlight of those years. He'd never before met another omega besides his brothers and the dying ones that stayed with Pastor Jim, so Brittany was a pleasant surprise. She had smelled him before he'd smelled her, of course, and had run up to him, SO excited. She'd never met a MALE omega, and only one other female one, an older friend of the family. She was so happy to find someone else that had golden rings in their eyes, too! For the seven weeks they were there, those two were thick as thieves. Those three, after Dean met her, too. The joy of it for Brittany was that because Sam and Dean were omegas, too, these were friends her parents felt safe for her to be around. Because her parents knew a little something of the dangers omegas faced, they'd never let her go out and about with other young people, afraid lest something happen. They didn't even go out as a family, much. But hearing about two omegas she'd met, they met with John, who promised them that their daughter would be as safe as anyone ever was with his sons. And so the three of them spent evenings and weekends together. They never even really did anything that big or great. Just drove around, talked about nothing, stopped and got a sundae, sat by the stream in the park with their toes in the water. Or went to her house or their motel room and played UNO with the deck from that Christmas with Adam that they still hauled around. But it was special, just because it was a hint of the LIFE that Brittany had been denied since she presented. And it was nearly as special for Sam and Dean, just because it was something normal, something to do with someone they could relate to, that didn't make them feel too weird and different. Of course, fellow omegas or not, Sam and Dean DID still find her ridiculously attractive; their omeganess was definitely in second-place to their just being guys! But there was no way in hell they were about to ruin it by even thinking too hard about making a move on her. Her parents seemed to have the very-mistaken idea that omegas would only go for alphas, so if they had gotten even the faintest idea that she wasn't 'safe' with them, they wouldn't have let her out with them, and they couldn't do that to her. They knew she needed this. She didn't even have any siblings! So Sam and Dean took the high road and put their libidos on the back burner, so they could give this sweet girl the chance to just be human for a while. After all, there were plenty of other girls to chase, girls that probably had too MUCH freedom. So they tamped it down around Brittany, and renewed their efforts after those other girls. John was proud of them for it...


	30. What If?

Those months spent with Adam in the summer were precious to all of them. It became a new and much-appreciated ritual, to collect Adam and drive up to the same lake to camp in the same clearing, each and every summer. That really hadn't been John's original plan. He'd thought that maybe four weeks of freedom from work and hunting each year would give them time to do a lot of different things in a lot of different places together, but their first camping trip to that lake in Maine had proved such a wild hit with all three of his boys, that they'd absolutely insisted on returning to do the same the next year, after which they were adamant that they do the same again the following year, too. So it became a thing. John thought once or twice about maybe forcing the issue and taking them elsewhere, knowing they would manage to have fun somewhere else, too, but decided against it. He just didn't feel like arguing with all three of his sons over something non-essential, not when just going along with it made them all so happy. He guessed that was just what came of fathering three omegas - it pushed HIM into a very planned-out, scheduled life, too!

So that was what they did. And of course, John took full advantage of the opportunity to try and get Adam's weapon training up to speed with his brothers', and to pass along all he knew about outdoor survival: tracking, compass use, determining directions by the stars, how to catch a live snake safely, how to bear-proof the camp, what is and isn't poisonous, etc. While they enjoyed it and did learn a lot, what his boys were really interested in was using every possible moment to just PLAY, to just goof off and be ridiculous and roughhouse and sniff EVERYTHING out there - especially each other! And John was glad to let them do it. His oldest two lived such uptight, scary lives, what with always having to be so wary of the alphas that could be lurking around most any corner, that it did John's heart good to take them out away from the rest of the world for a while and watch them slide into a silly, leisurely lightheartedness with their younger half-brother. One of the things they did, and the part that would always stick out most in John's mind, was engage in bizarre 'what if?' conversations as they relaxed around the fire in the evenings. Most of these speculative discussions left John either rolling his eyes and shaking his head, or just staring at them in suspicious confusion. Astounding, the mess his boys came up with!

Like, "What if Dean got turned into a dog? Or just cursed with dog instincts, or something?" Dean, of course, grunted in mild affront. Why wonder about HIM being a dog? What if THEY got turned into dogs? "'Cause, Dean, you're the one that sticks your head out the window when you aren't driving!" Another night they wondered, "What if all the angels got kicked out of Heaven, and they were all freaked out and running around trying to find people so they could take control of their bodies?" Oh, what John would have given to have seen Jim's face, if his pastor friend had heard half the ludicrousness they spewed THAT night! Then there was the one that went, "What if we kept bouncing around from universe to universe, like to other dimensions where stuff was almost the same, but just worked a little different and had different rules in each one?" Yeah, John had sat back and had himself a few beers during that one. Or, "What if fairies were a thing, but they weren't cute the way girls draw 'em, but dangerous and really frickin' annoying?" Or the one where they wondered, "What if we had special powers and crap, 'cause we were like, half-demon, or something? Except maybe we weren't completely evil like a demon, just these crazy party-animal supermen." Oh, Lord...

It seemed that the majority of their most animated confabulations (other than the ones about girls, of course) had some sort of supernatural theme to them. John supposed that was just boys, what came of them having wild imaginations and time to kill, and staying up too late so many weekend nights watching fantasy, science-fiction crap on TV. So after he got off the phone one evening with another 'hunter' that had forgotten that he was taking time off with his boys, John listened with a smirk as they contemplated what it might be like if there were MONSTER hunters.

Sam started it. "What if Dad hunted monsters, instead?" That got Adam's attention. "Instead of what?" Dean stuttered a second, before coming back with, "Uh, you know, instead of being a mechanic and shit." John snapped his fingers. "DEAN. Language!" He sighed. "At least in front of Adam..." Really, John truly wished that he could let his youngest know what he did, but he just absolutely could NOT risk that information getting back to Kate. Who knew how she might react? Dean shifted and kept on. "Yes, sir. But yeah. That would be sweet..." Sam frowned. "Actually? Maybe it WOULDN'T. Maybe it'd be awful. You'd probably always be dealing with chaos and monster craziness. You'd never get any rest." Adam was keeping his hands busy tying blades of grass into loops, making a chain. "You mean, like if monsters were real? And Dad ran around trying to get 'em?" Dean nodded. "OH, yeah. And we went with him, and hunted 'em, too!" Sam piped up with, "I mean, it MIGHT be okay. There'd probably be a lot of cool myths and traditions with it, a whole monster-hunter subculture. But what if you couldn't tell the people from the monsters?" Dean grinned. "Hey, if it walks and quacks like a duck, then it must be a duck, right? Couldn't be too hard to figure out. But yeah, then we'd be these seriously righteous heroes, saving the world, doing awesomeness, and getting all the adoring, grateful ladies." Sam snorted. "Or just getting hurt all the time. 'Cause I guess it would depend on what KIND of monsters, but don't they have teeth and claws and superpowers and stuff?" Dean shrugged. "So? We could handle it, 'cause we'd be monster hunters. We'd learn what to do from other guys that did it, then go practice and be awesome. And the monsters could just go hide and shake in their boots! Or claws, or scales, or whatever they had..." Adam had an interesting look on his face. "But how WOULD you kill a monster? In the movies they're always eating people. Nobody's really trying to fight them much, just running away and screaming." Sam contemplated that. "There would probably be all kinds of ancient lore books that explained it all. Like, secret libraries all about it, or secret societies that shared all that kind of classified information, maybe once you were initiated." Dean stretched his legs out. "Or you could just pop a cap in their ass, or set 'em on fire with a blow-torch, or something." Glaring at his oldest who WOULD keep cussing, John sighed and nodded. "Is what I'd do..." They all turned to look at him. "Yeah?" John nodded, the dead-serious, determined look on his face telling them that he had something much more specific and REAL in mind than just the mythical creatures of horror films. "Anything I caught coming after you boys? I'd shoot it. Then I'd probably salt and burn it just to be sure and make my point to the others - Don't mess with my family."

A thoughtful moment passed. Dean opened a can of peanuts, remarking, "I bet it would be a family-business kind of thing. Like medieval trade guilds, or something. It'd get passed down, dads to sons, older brothers to younger ones. So if it was a REALLY tough monster, the whole family could go after it. Fugly'd have to face down the whole clan. Like, beware, suckers! Winchesters comin' after ya!" John smiled, but Adam positively GLOWERED. "And what? Milligans get left out, just get left behind to get eat? Thanks a lot, Dean..." Dean then tried to backtrack. "No way! I mean, it'd be ALL the sons and brothers. We just happen to be mostly Winchesters. But Adam, dude, you would TOTALLY be part of the team. I wouldn't leave you behind! I mean, you're family, pretty much a Winchester, you're just named Milligan." Adam's unimpressed face left Dean to keep stumbling. "I mean... Oh, come on, man. You're with us and you know it. I meant, Winchesters AND Milligan comin' at ya! 'Cause that's even scarier, right?" Adam rolled his eyes and laid his head on Dean's knee, before smiling and sniffing him deeply. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Gimme a peanut..."

John laughed silently, while Sam frowned, peeling the bark off a twig. "So, wait a minute. It's a family guild thing? But what if one of them DIDN'T want to hunt monsters? What, would they just HAVE to, anyway? Clan disown them if they didn't, or something?" John sighed, even as he smiled. "They'd probably listen to the objector whine and throw fits as they dragged the uncooperative one along with them, just because they love him too much to leave him behind for the monsters to eat. The ungrateful clan member probably pushes every button they have, 'til they either snap and yell at him or just smack him. But he should always know they love him, anyway. Even if he doesn't like it, and turns his father's hair grey early over it." Sam scowled and huffed, looking down, but still scooted closer to John, who rubbed the back of his neck and scratched behind his ear. Dean smirked. "Whoa. Wait. Where have I heard THAT story before? Seems awfully familiar..." John and Sam spoke simultaneously: "Shut up, Dean."

A quiet moment passed, before Adam renewed the monster symposium. "So what if somebody got eaten? That's not just the end, is it? I mean, if we were in a world where wacky stuff like monsters was happening anyway, would somebody really have to stay dead after they were eaten?" Dean looked at him crazy. "What's the alternative? Celestial beings regenerating you out of monster droppings? Though actually, that would be pretty cool..." John snorted. He'd really have to double-check Dean's birth certificate, maybe the kid WASN'T an adult, yet... But Sam looked more interested, all of a sudden. "Maybe that's why the hunters hunt the monsters. Not just to prevent people getting eat, but maybe to rescue them OUT of the monsters, too?" Adam was thoroughly intrigued, now, too. "Yeah! Like, maybe they just swallow people whole, and if you got there fast enough after then you could just do surgery and cut 'em out? Whoa. I'd wanna do that!" Sam looked at him. "Hey. If you were a vet, you could surgically remove things out of dogs. I hear people at school all the time telling how their dog ate something weird, and they had to rush it to the vet to have it taken out before it got twisted in the intestines." Adam paused. "Yeah. Or I could just be a regular human doctor, and do surgeries on PEOPLE. I could cut and look at guts, and be helping people at the same time. That would be really cool..." Dean shuddered. "Not me. Doctors have to stay in school for freaking ever. Think I'll pass!" Adam was hardly deterred. "But it'd be worth it once you were done, right? Then you could be a DIFFERENT kind of hero, saving sick and hurt people's lives. AND get to cut into people and look at guts." Dean failed to see the appeal. "Yeah, but you'd spend half your life in school, no time for anything else! I couldn't do it." Sam looked as though he was weighing it. "I mean, it wouldn't really be THAT long. Four years of college, four of medical school, another two being supervised by other doctors? What's that called, residency or internship, or something? That's not really forever. And it might be fun..." Dean grunted. "The actual slicing of people and sewing 'em back up, maybe. But not the years and years of staring at books. That'd get old, fast." Sam kicked Dean's foot. "Hey, someone's gotta do it. Who's gonna patch all these monster hunters up when something nearly gets them?" Dean rolled not just his eyes, but his whole head. "Yeah, yeah. Y'all have fun with that, ya freaking nerds."

Quiet, companionable silence for a minute, as they threw handfuls of old leaves in the fire and watched the flames jump. Sam added something else. "What if some of the monsters were alphas and omegas?" John gazed down at him, wondering where this was going. Dean shrugged. "Guess it'd make the monster hunters' job easier. Wait 'til the omega ones are in heat, take 'em out when they're most open." John tensed at that, but said nothing. Adam curled in closer to Dean. "Maybe that's how you know which monsters to go after, which would be easiest for you to get. Betas hunt beta monsters, us omegas hunt the omega monsters." Dean shrugged. "Maybe." Sam's brows drew together. "But wait, what about the alpha monsters? They'd be... they'd be REALLY monstrous. Even bigger and badder than other monsters. Would alpha monsters be able to smell you better than regular beta monsters? If monsters are already chasing people, would alpha monsters be even more after omega people?" Dean and Adam froze, that awful thought giving them cold chills. Dean spoke slowly. "Sam, man. I mean, you're not really worried about it, are you? I mean, this is all just 'what if'..." Sam shrugged one shoulder, drew swirls in the ashes near his foot. "Just wondering how it would work." Adam looked at Dean, who glanced at John, before turning back to the fire. "Who knows. We'd just go hunt 'em down 'fore they 'could do anything." Dean paused, a slow grin forming. "Dad could take all the alpha monsters out. If we were monster hunters? We'd charge in behind him, the whole badass Winchesters-and-Milligan clan, wreaking havoc upon monster tyrannies everywhere, so that some day when we're old and stuck in our beds, we could say, WE DID IT! WE FOUGHT GALLANTLY FOR OUR FREEDOM!" Adam gaped. "Wow. You just made that sound almost epic." Sam nodded. "I mean, it's a decent speech to paraphrase." Dean puffed up. "Hell, yeah! And then we rush forward and kick monster ass!" 

John just closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and laughed. Lord help them...


	31. Irregularity

But there was something else discovered during those years, something else they had to deal with that complicated their lives. In spite of all Sam's love and desperate craving for order, stability, and schedule, his body simply refused to cooperate and regulate ITSELF. Sam and his heat cycles were irregular.

Heats were supposed to happen twice a year, every six months. But of course, those months were not precisely CALENDAR months. It was actually about every six sets of 30.5 days - approximately, because of course it's hard to count out half days, and because 30.5 exactly would make more than a year, so exactness would mean that every few years there would be a year with only ONE heat, and that never happened. Omegas ALWAYS had two heats a year, which meant that there was really no way to calculate exactly when the next heat would begin. At best, a date could be arrived at that would be within 24 hours of the actual event, meaning that if it was supposed to happen on the 20th, it might actually begin on the 19th or the 21st. Years of dealing with first Mary and then Dean had left John fairly confident and adept at calculating a date, and being prepared the day before, and unsurprised the day after. Unfortunately, this strategy, universal for all omegas John had ever known or even heard about, didn't work on Sam. It was an unpleasant learning curve discovering that Sam could be as much as two weeks early OR late, making that time period one nerve-rattling, terrifying headache for John.

Dean could simply be kept in the room the day before his heat was supposed to be due, just in case. If it didn't happen 'til the day after it was supposed to, he only missed two days of work in addition to the three of his heat and the recovery day afterward. But with Sam, he was never quite sure WHAT to do. If the boy was going to be two weeks late, he wouldn't know that, but he couldn't keep him out of school for a month! After Sam's first few heats, John simply had to resign himself to just WATCHING the boy more carefully during those months when it was expected to happen. While Sam couldn't help but appreciate the extra attention, he very much resented the restrictions his father placed on him at the beginning of those months. And a resentful Sam was an argumentative Sam.

"Dad, staying after in the chemistry lab is exactly the same as staying at school. Because it IS staying at school! With teachers, and everything! It's not like I'd be by myself, or with a gang of alphas!" John refused to be moved on this one. "You could go into heat any day now, Sam. And if you do, I want you with me and Dean. I am required to send you to school, that's unavoidable, but I don't have to let you stay after. So I won't." They were riding out towards the local shooting range after John and Dean got off work. Sam had gotten off the bus and sat and stewed at the garage John was then working in, gearing up for the argument they were now having, as they drove out to meet Dean there. He slumped against the door and kicked the truck's dash. "NOT fair, Dad! It could be almost a month before I go into heat. You just not gonna let me do anything at all until then? For a month?" John kept his eyes on the road. "You're gonna stop kicking my truck. But hopefully, son, it won't BE a month. If it starts here in a day or two, the whole mess will be over in a week. Then you'll have another almost six months to stay after school, if you want. Just trying to keep you safe, Sam." Sam tugged his bangs down over his eyes. "Ugh. I KNOW. Wish I was a beta, 'cause this SUCKS!" John smiled internally. "You keep wishing, Sam. Just one of those things we deal with." Sam grit his teeth and only just stopped himself from kicking the dash again, stomping his foot down on the floorboard, instead.

All the ornery crap Sam put them through just for trying to watch out for him? John almost got used to it. He usually tried to just ignore it, at least until Sam made it to where he couldn't, but thankfully that wasn't always. Most times it was nothing worse than just letting the boy run his mouth a little. John would let him vent his frustrations a while, occasionally right up to the point where the kid was pushing that line, and then he'd glare and warn him, and watch it dissolve into a trademark angry pout. John didn't pay those minor fits of attitude too much mind, just filed them away under 'Life with Sam'. He stayed anxious, though, because he knew that Sam starting a heat away from them would eventually happen, and oh, when it did...!

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

When it did? Well, thank God there'd been no alphas in that school! 

John and Dean had both been keeping a remarkably close eye on Sam for a few days, watching for even the smallest hint that his heat could be starting. Sam rolled his eyes, but let them feel his forehead every few minutes, anyway. (Not that being touched by family was ever a real hardship for an omega. They might not ever admit it, but they LOVED being touched, in most any fashion!) He griped a little bit more about not being able to go on the field trip later that week with the rest of the ecology students, just on principle, but was otherwise actually in a fairly good mood that morning. Their morning run and breakfast went by without a hitch, and Sam was actually smiling as he and Dean rolled up to the school. "Dad told me to remind you to ride the bus to the garage this afternoon, since neither of us gets off 'til 5." Sam rolled his eyes, got out, and adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. "Yeah, Dean. I know. Just like EVERY day I don't work. I do work tomorrow, though." Sam was terribly proud of the three afternoons a week he spent shelving and cutting bolts of material at that town's little fabric shop. Dean may have thought it was a girly job, but hey, at least it put him in close contact WITH girls! Dean smirked. "Yep. You good old, all-American laborer, you. Rest up this afternoon, get ready for that really grueling shift you got coming up." Sam snorted and flipped him off. "Least I stay clean, AND if it gets slow, I might have time to work on my homework while I'm there." It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Go to class, nerd." Sam grinned. "See you later!"

Sam was having a really and truly good day. Tops! Everything seemed to be going exceptionally well. He was able to get a front-row seat in every class. He found a dollar in the hallway, and the English teacher even brought cookies in for everybody. The previous week's math test was handed back that Sam had gotten a 105 on, after getting the bonus/extra-credit questions right, too. Oh, and not to mention the three ridiculously hot girls that all kept smiling and making eyes in his direction all day. Yeah. All three of them. Seriously, it seemed like every time he turned around, at least one of them was winking or waving at him. He just smiled back. Yep. Today was DEFINITELY his day...!

And so it was that Sam found himself at lunch, poking down turkey tetrazzini and peach slices while looking at some guy's pictures of an injured opossum he'd found in his yard and dropped off at an animal clinic. He was still having a marvelous day, he thought, but... he didn't know. Something was suddenly off. Something he couldn't put his finger on. He was just uncomfortable all of a sudden...

"Sam? Sam, are you alright? Sam?" Sam blinked and looked up at his friend. "What?" His friend frowned. "I was telling you how we got there after, and you spaced out. Are you OK?" Sam shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Go on, I'm listening." Opossum-guy kept talking, but Sam really WASN'T listening. He felt off, weird and crawly somehow, and WHY was it so warm in this cafeteria? Pulling his overshirt off and folding it under his notebook, he had the feeling there was something he should know or recognize, something he was missing. But he couldn't for the life of him think what it might be. Assuming that it would come to him later if it were really important, he decided to just ignore it for now. After all, there were those same three girls sitting together at the next table over, looking at him, whispering and giggling together. Sam felt terrible being rude to his friend, not listening to his story, but really, those three over there were infinitely more interesting than a possum! He caught himself staring, only waking to himself when he saw them frown, with looks on their faces that were a cross between confusion, worry, and disgust. It snapped him back from wherever he had been, back to his friend's loud concern, a dull ache in his guts, and the realization that the pad he was wearing was now so full it was leaking. "Sam? I don't think you're OK. You need to go see the nurse, or something, 'cause you keep zoning out. Plus you're shaking, and you're really starting to kind of smell..." Hearing his friend describe his symptoms, it suddenly clicked. HEAT. Oh, hell. He was going into heat! "Yeah. Yeah, I DO need to go see the nurse..." He stood up, trying hard not to fall over. He left everything there where it was, his tray, his shirt, his notebook. None of it mattered, even if he COULD'VE made himself focus on it. "Nurse." Sam stumbled through the cafeteria, the temperature and the pain in his abdomen seeming to spike with each step. He grabbed strangers' shoulders just to keep from toppling over. "Sorry. Sorry. M'sorry..." People were saying stuff to him, but he didn't know whether he couldn't hear, couldn't focus, or just didn't care. Someone shoved him off of them, but he caught himself on the end of a table and just kept moving. His head was whirling, he was hard as a rock, and slick was oozing down the backs of his thighs. Heat. Ugh. He guessed Dad was right. This WOULD suck during a field trip...

He was out of the cafeteria, in the hall. Only... he couldn't remember where he was going. He turned around in a wobbly circle a few times, before finally just slipping and splatting down on the floor. Ow. But the new bruises on his knee and shoulder were nothing compared to the rest of his misery. Everything he'd ever known was abruptly forgotten in the face of another overwhelming surge of warmth and arousal. From somewhere in some direction, as though underwater, he could hear adults coming, talking. But it didn't mean anything, it was just noise. All there was, was HEAT. Just a sweltering, torrid fever. Too hot. He had to lose these clothes, but his hands weren't coordinated today, it was taking ages to get this shirt off, but God knew it was his PANTS he really wanted off, he was so stupidly horny he couldn't think...

Sam was lying there in a puddle of his own slick with his shoes kicked off, panting and out of breath and struggling mightily with his shirt, when a teacher rushed over, knelt down, and laid a hand on him. "Your name's Sam Winchester, right? Stop. Look at me. What are you doing? Tell me what's wrong, what you need. Stop, Sam, what are you doing?" Sam HEARD her, heard something, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. All he knew was that he was burning up, this shirt needed to come off YESTERDAY, but someone was stopping him from taking it all the way off. Why? Oh, but someone was touching him. Yes, please! Sam couldn't hear himself begging, pleading with whoever it was to not leave, please, stay... He curled toward the voice and hand, thrashing around desperately, trying to get closer to someone, anyone, whoever this was! What little awareness of his surroundings Sam still had all but disappeared then. He was just a frantically squirming, slick-leaking bundle of overheated libidinousness. So lost was he that he neither saw nor heard the rapidly growing crowd of gawking, pointing students, or the several other teachers that rushed over to both restrain his flailing, and keep him from taking off the rest of his clothes. He was unaware of the walkie-talkie call to both the nurse and the main office for help, after one of the teachers realized what was happening and pointed out that he was in heat. However, he WAS very, very aware of the four sets of hands that lifted him up and carried him to the nurse's office, even if he didn't know that that was where they were taking him. All Sam really knew was frustration, desperation, that there were people touching him, but they weren't DOING anything! He felt himself being lowered onto a soft surface (a cot in the nurse's office) and he lurched forward, straining to keep contact with someone. He was frenzied, befuddled, unable to decide whether to concentrate on those hands, his unrelenting problem 'down there', or the clothing that he was still fighting to get out of. He was trying to do all of that at once, and none of it was really working. 

He didn't know that he had started whimpering. He didn't know that what all those hands were doing was trying to keep him from falling off the cot as he flailed madly. He didn't know that the security officer had been posted just outside the door, or that pretty much every class in the school that next period was going to address the topic of omegas and heats, no matter what the syllabus said they were supposed to be talking about. All Sam knew was that he was miserable, even though there was a fan now blowing on him, and someone (the nurse) was saying something about his dad, that he had been called and was coming. Dad. Dad? Where was Dad? Sam didn't know, he couldn't figure it out. He was just hot, horny, and hurting...

He didn't know how much time went by. It felt like ages. (It was actually only about seventeen minutes.) Then he smelt it. DAD! AND DEAN! In the midst of his foggy anguish, the familiar smells of his family were a shining beacon of comfort. Half-delirious, he gasped out, "Dad! Dad. Dean. Dad..." Big, warm, and very familiar hands had him now, two sets of them, and he grasped blindly at whatever he could reach, sniffing deeply of the neck he was brought to, and the arms that held his own. Dad. Dean. Family. Safety. Everything was still awful, he was still too hot and his guts still hurt, but those smells surely meant that it would be OK. Had Sam been able to actually hold that thought in his head, he would have been sure of it. It would be OK...

A bottle of water was brought to his lips, and with a bit of prompting, Sam was slowly urged to drink it. He didn't hear the brief conversation between his dad and the nurse, but he held on tightly as he was lifted, clinging on as though for dear life. He heard but attached no meaning to whatever it was Dean was saying. He was completely unaware that his hips were moving of their own accord in his heat's sway, so neither did he understand his dad's gentle injunctions to STOP. The mild rebuke fell on uncomprehending ears, as he was adjusted to make his subconscious movements less... awkward. He certainly felt the cooler air when they stepped outside, though, and was grateful!

Sam was unable to perceive Dean's or his dad's worry. He didn't hear John telling Dean to get in the back, because someone needed to hold Sam still in the car, and Dean was obviously too rattled by it all to drive. He DID feel himself being deposited somewhere (in the backseat), and for a moment clung all the tighter to his dad, until his face found Dean's shoulder and, eager to get closer to that other 'family' smell, he let himself be transferred. Nothing made any sense, nothing bore any context or significance. But nestled in his older but now just-slightly-shorter brother's lap, all his dreadful NEED seemed almost bearable...

Over the next three days, John and Dean waited on Sam with all the attentive care they could possibly muster. That heat really wasn't any worse than any of Sam's others, but Sam would never, ever know - would never be able to guess - just how spooked, how truly terrified that his father had been to get a call like that. He'd known that it could and probably would happen, and the school staff had responded quickly and well, but it shook John to the core to realize just how badly it could have gone. There were no alphas at that school, but what if there HAD been? Sam's scent was far stronger than most omegas', even WITH the scent suppressants. During a meet-up with a few other hunters just a few months before, including one of the two alphas he sometimes worked with, John had been pulled aside and urged to make an excuse to leave - Sam's scent all over him was driving the poor alpha crazy! If Sam was in heat, would there be any way of keeping them off of him? Sam couldn't fight like that. He couldn't even stand up! He'd been ready to throw himself on any or all of the teachers trying to help him. If one of them had been an alpha, Sam would been beyond easy pickings. He would've been so eager and cooperative, without even being aware of it! John swallowed down the bile that a dread presentiment brought up.

But three days later, Sam came out of it, and they plied him with all the food and water he could possibly stand. It took him another half a day, though, before he was lucid enough to sit up and talk. He fumbled through his hazy memories for a second. "So... I went into heat at school...?" A sober nod from Dean, a strangled "Yes" from John. "Was it... was it bad? I mean, what happened, exactly?" John didn't even get a chance to open his mouth, before Dean started in with a smirk. "Well, we heard that you apparently started shaking and perfuming the cafeteria with that exquisite 'eau de Sam-in-heat' of yours, got up all sopping wet with slick and started falling all over people on your way to the nurse's office, then fell down in the hall and started stripping. Would've, too, 'cept a teacher found you and stopped you, and radioed for help. Four of 'em hauled you down to the nurse, while the rest kept your audience back and gave an impromptu biology lesson. They called Dad, who grabbed me, and we came and brought you back here. The rest was heat-as-usual." John was fixing Dean with a dark look. Sam closed his eyes. "Ugh... Really?" John nodded curtly. "Unfortunately. Though Dean oughta can his amusement, because it's not funny." John glared at Dean, who swallowed and backtracked. "No, of course it wasn't funny. Serious stuff." Then he grinned. "But you humping Dad? Now, that WAS funny!" Sam's eyes shot open. "What the hell?! No I didn't. That's NOT funny, I would NEVER!" John just sighed, while Dean nearly pissed himself he was laughing so hard. "Oh, oh but you DID! You t-totally DID! HAHAHAHAHA!" Dean lost it, holding his stomach and rolling on the end of the bed. "OH, SHIT! HAHAHA! You DID, man. Dad was t-trying to carry you out to the car, and..." Dean couldn't even finish his sentence. It hadn't been funny in the moment, because they'd been too worried and anxious to get him back to the motel. But now that it was over, and the look on Sam's face... Dean was literally crying, he was laughing so hard.

Sam turned a pleading look on John, who just sighed and nodded. "Aww, Dad. Geez, I didn't really?" Another nod. Sam put his head in his hands. "Nnugh..." Dean cracked up even harder, choking because he couldn't hardly breathe. John put his head in his own hands. If there was a God in heaven... Sam looked up and glared at Dean. "You can quit laughing now, obnoxious JERK." He kicked Dean in the side, which did nothing, of course, to hush his cackling. Sam flipped over and put a pillow over his head. "Dad, please shut him up. I mean, it's not like I MEANT to...!" John sighed, one hand reaching over to swat Dean's head, who was already starting to calm back down a little. Almost. "That's enough out of you, Dean." He turned back to Sam. "We know. You were sick, you weren't thinking. Just your body's reaction to being pressed against another body while in that state. We know, Sam. It's just another one of those things." Sam groaned. "It's ALWAYS another thing..." Dean, who had himself more or less together again, sat up and patted Sam's foot. "Hey, I'm sorry, man. I know, that's just heat for ya. Don't even feel bad." He tried SO hard to repress his returning grin. "But damn, sometimes shit's just funny. I mean, come on. Humping Dad?" Dean sniggered again. He really couldn't help it! Sam rolled back over and threw the pillow at him. "Least it was a real, live person, and not one of THESE." Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well..."

Later that evening, after showers and the Chinese take-out Dean went out for, the three of them crawled into the bed that WASN'T filthy with three days' worth of heat-mess, Sam snuggled in between his dad and Dean. A minute of tossing and twisting, and he finally managed to get comfortable, with his head against Dean's ribs. Sam was almost asleep, still exhausted from the previous three days, when he swore he could HEAR the smirk in Dean's voice. "I dunno, man. Is this a good idea? Ain't gonna start humping me in my sleep, are you?" John and Sam groaned in unison. "Just shut up, Dean."


	32. Tentative Pacification

In spite of Dean's laughing and making light of everything, the truth was that they were all pretty rattled after that. In between crass jokes and ribbing Sam, all Dean could really think about was that alpha that had touched him in Oregon. What if there'd been some perv like that around when Sam had gone into heat? What if he and their dad hadn't gotten there fast enough, if the teachers had been distracted or something for just a moment? Some freak could have touched SAM. Oh, hell, no! All of a sudden their dad's overbearing obsession with safety made so much sense to him. He was TOTALLY with Dad about watching Sam, keeping him close, no matter what the little whiner had to say about it. No way was some sick creep getting hold of his little brother! Dean began throwing himself into the training their dad put them through harder than ever, and nagged and pushed Sam to do better, insisting on them perfecting whatever was laid out for them. Sam was gonna bitch about it? LET Sam bitch about it. Least then he'd still be around TO bitch!

Sam was shaken, too, but really he was mostly just distressed at just how fickle his life had become. They were always moving anyway, which was stressful enough even if it was nothing new, but now there was his IRREGULARITY tossing things even more! He hadn't even been able to really enjoy his last few days at that school before he'd had to move again, since no one'd really wanted to talk to him after the 'incident', everybody just staring at him like he was some mutant aberration. And now Dean was completely obsessed with the weapon and fight training. Sam got why, he really did, but... damn it, all he really wanted was to just relax, settle down somewhere, make some friends, and focus on school. He loved his family, but he just wanted to hang out with them, without them forever breathing down his neck and worrying. Just live a normal life! Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. And it kept his nerves on edge.

The problem was that no matter how calm, sweet, and level-headed Sam normally was, he just... he just couldn't handle that kind of unpredictable stress very well. He'd always generally been a pretty flexible kid. He had commonsense enough to know that things couldn't always be perfect, was sensible enough to let LITTLE disruptions go. Despite being younger, Sam was in many ways a lot more logical and mature than Dean. He wasn't hotheaded, had no problems getting along with people, was an excellent compromiser. But he really, REALLY needed his life to be calm, stable, and orderly. He NEEDED that! His dad (and now Dean) were trying to provide something like structure with all the fresh new emphasis on training, but it just wasn't cutting it for him, because Sam could see it for what it was: a lousy sort of preparation for more potential chaos, which wasn't reassuring at all. Sam could take but little comfort in rituals designed to ready him for what could be the LOSS of his usual patterns. It was all making him irritable and snappish...

Sam's overwrought nerves were getting him on his dad's. John could only take just so much attitude, even when he understood where it was coming from. He knew what his son wanted, but it wasn't anything he could do much about, not without giving up hunting. And that was something he was doing partly FOR Sam! He knew it was hard on the kid, but it was all unbelievably frustrating for John. Dean, at least, seemed just fine! All the training and moving and looking after his family WAS Dean's structure. Dean actually started to get a bit restless when they stayed somewhere a little longer than usual, because HE needed to know that things were going to keep moving they way they always did. Why couldn't it be that way for Sam, too? Would make life infinitely easier! But it wasn't that way for Sam, and there was no talking him into going peacefully along with it. Stubborn kid insisted on posing the same arguments, throwing the same damn fits each and every time. John would have thought that being forcibly manhandled into a vehicle every move would eventually get it through to Sam that it was a thing that was just going to happen, and he might as well get used to it. But it never really got any easier, no matter HOW many times they rehearsed the scene. And John was getting damned tired of it.

He tried, he really TRIED to have patience, to show the kid some compassion. But damn it, at some point the kid just needed to grow up, already, and accept that life was just that way sometimes, that you couldn't always have things the way you wanted! Sam thought it was unfair? Well, John thought it was unfair, too! What about what HE wanted? Did his kids ever think of that? Did they really think this was what he'd actually WANTED for them? What John wanted was to not live in constant fear for his children's safety. He wanted his wife back, he wanted to be there to help actively raise his third son, and he especially wanted to NOT LISTEN TO ANYMORE OF SAM'S MOUTH. John didn't get much of what he wanted, but he rolled with it, anyway. Seldom ever did anyone hear him say a thing about it; he just took what was dealt to him, and kept moving. Would God that Sam could learn to do the same!

And on and on it went. It wasn't a lot of arguments - it was always just the SAME argument, slightly re-worded each time they started it up again. AND JOHN WAS TIRED OF IT. After so many years of it, he was simply out of patience. He loved the kid, but he did NOT love all the metric tons of bullshit every time they moved, so somewhere along the line John made up his mind that he just wasn't going to play that game anymore. He wasn't going to beg his son to behave, wasn't going to wheedle and coax him into doing what he was told. Not anymore! There'd never been any other issue he'd tried to barter with his sons over before, so why should moving be any different? It shouldn't, he decided. He realized that Jim was right, he HAD been letting the boy use his designation as an excuse to 'dishonor' him. He'd let the fact that they were omegas cloud his mind, had babied them for far too long. Well, no more! Sam was going to stop with the fit-throwing, stop with all the backtalk, stop with all the announcing what he would and wouldn't do! And he was DEFINITELY going to stop fighting him. John had let Sam kick and/or push him without repercussion for the last time!

So if John's boys had thought he was hard-nosed before, then they surely must've thought he was oppressively and imperiously strict after. Or at least Sam did! Because John was DONE with it. There were no more prolonged leavings. When John said it was time to go, that was it, it was time to go. If Sam started anything, he'd get a quiet warning or two to stop, before John moved quickly to end it. If Sam dared get physical as they ushered him from room to car, then there WAS no warning. John would simply proceed to tear him up good right then and there before shoving him in the car with his brother - and it didn't matter WHO was watching! 

Which was exactly what had happened that morning, and was why Sam was curled up on the front bench seat against Dean, sniffling. It had surely been some of the longest minutes of Dean's life, trying to drive and keep an eye on the road with Sam pressed up beside him crying. He'd wanted SO BAD to just stop the car and hug his idiot little brother, hold him 'til he calmed down. But Dad said to keep moving and follow him; they needed to get there before midnight. So he'd done his best to not crash with a humongous distraction smushing into his right side, wiping tears and snot all over him, wailing piteously. Dean couldn't decide whether he was more annoyed with Sam, or their dad. Unable to stop and reassure Sam the way he wanted to, he just let his pain-in-the-neck little brother wallow him, snaking a hand over to pet at his head and neck every so often, whenever it wasn't absolutely required for successfully maneuvering the car. Dean just hated the whole thing...

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, Sam becalmed some and composed himself. Dean let a few quiet minutes go by before speaking up. "So... you OK?" Sam stayed silent a moment, before quietly answering, "Yeah." Dean reached over to move Sam's hair out of his eye. "I mean, you sure? Really?" Sam sniffed. "Yeah." A pause. "I'm mad and my ass hurts, but yeah." Dean smirked. "Yeah, well. You did kinda ask for it. I mean, making us chase you around and around the parking lot, and then kicking Dad when he caught you? Doesn't exactly win you any Brownie points." Sam huffed and looked at the floorboard. A moment of silence. "I mean, I didn't set out to kick him. It's not like I had a plan to attack my father, or anything. I just..." Dean nodded. "You just don't wanna move, and you freak the fuck out and go batshit. I know, man." He sighed. "Dude, I know you don't like moving. We know. But I don't like you getting your ass beat, either. So you've seriously gotta figure out how to just chill and go with it, 'cause Dad's not gonna give up 'hunting' to stop moving, and he's done said he's not gonna take anymore of your shit. So unless you WANNA get smacked down every time we move...?" Sam was getting agitated. "Obviously I DON'T! I mean, every time we finally get wherever we're going, I'm like, OK, I can handle it. I WON'T freak out next time. It'll be alright, it's OK. Only then it's time to go again and it's NOT okay, and I panic and I can't do it and I piss everybody off and it's the same ol' awful-" Sam had been on the verge of crying again, when Dean squeezed his wrist and he stopped. He took a deep breath, before starting again, quieter. "I just NEED to get settled somewhere. Stay there. I NEED to, Dean. You and Dad get that, don't you? That I just NEED to? I mean, don't you ever wanna stay anywhere?" Dean looked over, uncertain. "I mean, sort of, sometimes. But we can't, so I don't get all bent out of shape about it. Wouldn't do any good." Sam sighed; Dean shifted. "Hell, Sam, maybe we DON'T get it. I mean, why DO you need to stay in one spot so bad?" Sam ran his hands through his hair in mild frustration. "BECAUSE. I just don't need the upset. I don't know exactly. I mean..." He closed his eyes and huffed, trying to get his thoughts together. "I think about it sometimes, try to figure it out. Why does it bother me? Shouldn't I be used to it by now? And all I can come up with is that it's kind of like when you're first starting to go into heat. That dizzy, scary, 'oh, no' feeling? That's almost what moving's like. Like I'm losing my grip. And I think it's because... I don't know! Something about the future. I gotta stay put somewhere, so I can find, be FOUND. How is anything ever gonna settle down and be more than just barely okay, if we're bouncing around, flitting across America all the time? I just need to stay PUT, you know?" Now Dean was agitated. "Wait a minute. Find what? Be found by what? A freaking alpha? No way, man. That's what you DON'T wanna be found by!" Sam rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it'd be somebody like that guy Joel you write, somebody that WOULDN'T abuse us. Maybe then I could settle down somewhere, have a life. Maybe heats wouldn't suck so bad. Maybe we could even start our OWN families, you know? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad..."

Sam had sat up. Both of them were staring out the window at their dad's truck leading the way, their minds whirring. Thoughts, dreams, desires, fears, uncertainties... 

Dean spoke first, broke the silence with a muttered, "I mean, I want that, too. But..." Sam almost snarled as he turned. "But WHAT, Dean? Why not? Why can't we just be happy, for more than just a little while here and there? Why not, Dean? What's so wrong with trying to be happy?" OK, now Dean was pissed. "Because it's not SAFE, moron! That's what Dad's been trying to protect us from! Yeah, every once in a while somebody like us gets lucky, and it's OK. But you know that's not how it usually works for us omegas! And I'm pretty eager to stay free, breathing, and unhurt! I don't know about you, but I don't think I'd be very happy if I got stuck being abused all the time, and you know what? I'd be even LESS happy if YOU were being done that way! SO MAYBE ME AND DAD ARE JUST A COUPLE OF SELFISH BASTARDS YOU'RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO PUT UP WITH, 'CAUSE WE'RE NOT WILLING TO LOSE YOU!"

They froze, staring at each other for a second before Dean forced himself to focus on the road again. Sam continued staring. It wasn't at all clear which of them was more surprised by the turns their conversation had taken. But Dean meant it. Sam could seriously just forget it if he thought they were gonna risk letting him get hurt. If Sam needed to feel secure, then Dean would do everything he could think of to help make that happen, but he'd be damned if he was gonna just sit around and wait on some prick to snatch them up. Fuck that! He turned the radio on with some violence, slamming himself backwards into the seat, staring out the window about as peevishly as possible. He was mollified a couple minutes later, though, when he felt Sam lean into his shoulder and sniff behind his ear. He rolled his eyes. "Dumbass, bullheaded bitch..." Sam just nuzzled in closer. "Yeah. Love you, too. Jerk."

The next several hours were fairly quiet, aside from Dean's occasional soft singing along with the radio. Sam spent most of it leaning back against Dean, his feet in the seat, watching the scenery go by out the passenger side window. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that his dad would've told him to stay off the driver, to either sit up properly or go lay down in the back, but Dean didn't seem to care, so neither did he. He just enjoyed the contact as he let his mind sort through everything. He was lost in some world of his own, when Dean spoke and pulled him out of it. "Hey. You awake? Dad's waving us over, guess he's pulling off for lunch." Sam situated himself in the seat. "Yeah. Yeah, lunch is good." Dean pulled in beside their dad's truck at a Biggerson's. John and Dean hopped out right away, but it took Sam a second, guilt making him reluctant to get out and face his dad. He slowly eased out of the car, shuffled up to them even more slowly. John turned a much gentler eye on Sam than he had that morning. "Sam." Named teenager looked down at his shoes. John stepped closer. "Sam. You alright, son?" Sam nodded, then looked up. "Yeah..." He swallowed and shuffled one foot, then threw his arms around his dad's neck before he could talk himself out of it. "Sorry, Dad. I, I didn't mean to kick you. I just... I'm sorry, OK?" Well. THAT was unexpected! It took John a second to blink and process before he could get his own arms to hug back. Since when did Sam apologize? He squeezed the boy to him, rubbing the back of his neck. He sighed. "Forgiven. Just don't let it happen again, alright?" Sam clutched his dad even tighter, unmindful of all the nosy oglers gaping at two men hugging for more than half a second in a restaurant parking lot. "Yes, sir. I'll... I'll try. I will." John nodded and peeled his penitent second son off, daring to hope that this marked an upward turning point, though only time and the next move would tell. Dean mused aloud, "Sign says some kind of special on brisket, with green onions. I'd try THAT..."


	33. Antecedents

Things with Sam seemed to improve somewhat after that - at least from John's perspective. Sam never learned to LIKE moving, (the enterprise remained fraught with emotional landmines) but he began to keep himself more or less under control. Sam was still a nervous, twitchy, hyperventilating wreck each time, but at least he gave up all the overt yelling and fighting. John could clearly see just how hard Sam was trying, though he found it confusing that Sam actually had to try that hard, at all. Was moving really such a hardship on him? John sometimes wondered if maybe he HAD been too hard on the kid...? But no. He wouldn't feel bad about it at all, because John wasn't about to take being assaulted by his own sons quietly. Weak omegas or not, it wasn't cute, and it wouldn't be happening anymore! So no, John didn't regret putting his foot down. Could only have been a good thing, if it got Sam to stop all that! 

Of course, he was unaware that Sam's biggest motivation was actually Dean. The talk his boys had in the car that day was the first time it had ever really gotten through to Sam just how much his hysterics aggrieved his family. Upsetting Dean had never been Sam's intention, so he resolved NOT to be such a thorn in their sides anymore. John may not have known what all had been said, but it was obvious that it was Dean that was holding Sam together when the boy reached his most frazzled. Sam no longer rode with his father when they moved - he went with Dean. Announcements that it was time to go became Sam's cue to start clutching onto Dean, face buried in his neck. And Dean, bless him, MORE than tolerated it. He failed to see his little brother's distraught clinginess as a burden. He encouraged it, even, often pulling Sam to him first. With all of Sam's energy focused on TRYING NOT TO FREAK OUT, it left his dad and brother to manuever him out to the car, Dean getting in on the passenger side and pulling Sam across beside him. John had no idea how Dean could drive with Sam wrapped around him and shaking like that, but he didn't question it. So long as Dean felt confident he could manage it, it was infinitely preferable to one of Sam's conniptions! 

Sam hated it. He knew exactly how pathetic he must look, how much of a hassle he was being for Dean, squeezing and snuffling him while he was trying to drive. But what was he supposed to do? He wasn't fighting, wasn't arguing anymore. He was going along with it like they wanted him to, but he wasn't sure that he could, without somebody to hold onto. Moving was not OK! He wasn't quite the unflappable stoic that Dad and Dean were. No, instead he was a freaking 17-yr.-old wuss and crybaby. Damn it, damn it all straight to hell... Maybe Dean was right, maybe he WAS a girl. The shame of it all half ate him alive. He may have seemed calmer, but he was sure he really felt worse, because at least when he was preoccupied with throwing a fit, he could fool himself into thinking he was angry. When he didn't, he was forced to face the fact that what he REALLY felt was fear.

But he tried. For Dean, and for his dad. He HATED it, hated feeling weak and cowardly, but he tried. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut, let them lead him out without resistance, and just hid himself in Dean's side and scent. Further down the road, once he had calmed down and was coming out of it, he would relax into Dean's fingers moving through his hair as some cassette they'd listened to a thousand times before played, and feel like a fool. A very loved and lucky fool, it was true, but a fool nonetheless....

Time went by, and Sam turned eighteen. Dean had set the alarm for midnight, having decided to flip on the light and belly-flop on top of his now-bigger little brother the very instant he became a legal adult. "WAKE YOUR ASS UP, BIRTHDAY MAN!" Both Sam and John were jerked out of a sound sleep, and quite nearly had heart attacks. John leapt up out of bed and instantly snatched up his gun, before realizing that it was just his oldest son and lowering it again. "DEAN! What's going on here? Report, now!" Dean had the grace to ALMOST look ashamed, even as he smiled. "Um, wishing Sammy a happy birthday?" John was still half-asleep, way too tired for this. "At midnight?! Dean, turn it all off, go back to bed..." Once his heart was beating normally again, Sam just flopped back and laughed. Dean grinned. "Um, actually Dad, was thinking I'd just kidnap Sam for a while. I mean, he's an adult now, so we're both free to just go do crazy shit at all hours, right? Whaddaya say, Sam? We can go find you a cupcake at a convenience store, or something. Or just what the hell ever, you decide. 'Cause you're a freaking adult!" Sam blinked. "Uh. Maybe?" He looked up at their dad, who sighed and sat back down on his bed heavily. "Guess that's up to you, son." Sam blinked again. "Yeah?" Dean grinned and punched him lightly in the arm, while John yawned and rubbed his forehead. "Unfortunately, Dean's right. Legally, you're an adult, now. Have been for... four minutes. So as sensible as waiting and staying in 'til morning would be, that's not really something I have the right to actually enforce anymore." He sighed. "Give you the same spiel I gave Dean when he turned eighteen. I can't stop you. I just ask that you tell me when and where you're going, keep your phone and a weapon on you. Be safe. But it's up to you. And I'm gonna have to hit the hay again, either way..." This was punctuated with another yawn. Dean was excitedly circling his fingers, in a motion that clearly indicated that he would like for Sam to make up his mind, already. "Um. So, maybe me and Dean'll go somewhere for just a little while... Not stay out ALL night, and just come right back?" John nodded. "Long as you boys got phones and weapons..." They shot up like rockets, scrambling to get dressed as quickly as possible. "Yeah! OK!" Throwing on clothes, shoes, and jackets, they doused in deodorant and grabbed their stuff. "We'll just ride around, grab something to munch on, be back in like an hour or something!" "Yeah, Dad, we'll bring you something, too!" But John grabbed Sam's arm as he rushed by. Sam froze, and John just stared at him for a moment, before folding him to him. "Love you, boy. Even if the law says you're not a boy anymore." Sam hugged him back, before pulling away with a grin. "Yeah, love you, too, Dad." He and Dean ran out the door. In spite of how tired he still was, it took John more than a few minutes to fall back asleep.

Come morning, John found them propped up against the headboard, sleeping surrounded by a wide assortment of junk food wrappers and six empty beer bottles, still dressed and with their shoes on. John took in the scene with some amusement, before wapping Dean in the face with an empty chip bag. "MORNING! UP AND AT 'EM!" Dean groaned and snuggled into Sam, who smiled and nodded with eyes still closed, only half-conscious as he slurred, "Eez ma birfday...?" John laughed. "Yep! It's your birthday, so rise and shine, already!" Sam came alive at that. "My birthday! Hey, Dean! Wake up, man!" Dean only snuggled in closer. "Whaaaaat?" Sam shook him. "Dude, it's my birthday! Get up! Or no, don't. Just keep laying there. I'ma get first shower!" Dean grunted. "Don't use all the hot wa-" But Sam was already up and in the bathroom. "Ugh. Fuckin' mornin' people on their birthdays..." 

It was later that self-same month that Sam graduated from high school. John hadn't planned to stay in the little town they were in at that time for quite that long, had anticipated leaving a few days before the last day of school - a week and a half before the graduation ceremony. Sam didn't know that, because John had learned years before to avoid mentioning anything at all to do with moving in front of Sam until it was absolutely necessary, but Dean had known, and he when he had a few minutes alone with their father he begged, literally BEGGED John to stay long enough to let Sam to finish up and participate in it all. "It'll only be an extra couple weeks, Dad. Please? Would mean the world to Sam, you know it would." John frowned. "I know, Dean. But I'm expected to get out there to Maryland, be ready when they get the call. Sick alpha's already put six people in the hospital in as many months, one almost didn't make it. He needs taking out, Dean. No graduation is more important than keeping people safe!" But Dean was ready for that. "Yeah, but Dad, they pretty much always get you in position a week or more ahead of time, anyway. They have you there a couple weeks in advance just so you'll have plenty time to get ready. But you're awesome, you don't even NEED that much time to be ready. We can stay here, let Sam do his graduation thing, and STILL get out there before you need to off the bastard. Then everybody's happy! Uh, 'cept the alpha..." John would promise nothing until he'd made a few phone calls, but he finally agreed to stay, provided they left the very next morning after the ceremony, bright and early! Dean grinned from ear to ear. "ALRIGHT! Yes! Thanks, Dad! Aw, you know Sam's gonna be so freaking excited. He's probably one of those damn dweebs that's gonna try to keep the little tassle off the hat for all eternity, or some shit." "DEAN." "Yes, sir?" "Cussing." "Ah. Yeah. Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. But anyway, Sam's gonna be stoked...!"

As the event drew nearer, Sam got progressively more excited. Dean insisted on paying for the rental of a used cap and gown. The end of the last day of classes left Sam feeling just a hint sad, but John and Dean took pains to keep him distracted! For the next few days, Dean made sure Sam attended each and EVERY party thrown for or by the small graduating class. (And hey, if escorting Sam to functions meant that Dean got to partake of the refreshments too, then well, that was just icing on the cake!) Sam, of course, put his efforts into making a very particular sort of use of at least a few of these parties, disappearing into nooks and crannies with bright-eyed, eager girls and coming out a few minutes later looking, erm... HAPPY. Eyebrows from Dean met smug and sated grins from Sam. "Seriously? Did she just-" Sam just smiled and nodded. "Yeah. And she was good at it, too." Dean looked jealous. "Damn. Maybe I shoulda finished school, too! Props, bro." High-fives were exchanged... 

But then came the actual ceremony, the evening of the walk across the stage. Dean, of course, HAD to make jokes about Sam looking like a girl in a damn dress, 'cause a gown's a dress, right? But Sam just grinned. He didn't care. It was plain as day that his family was proud of him, and he was too busy basking and lolling in that pride to respond with anything more than an eyeroll. Even John made it clear that he was proud. He actually dressed up for the occasion, pulling out the suit he almost never wore, but saved for those rare hunts that required him to temporarily insinuate himself into more upscale environments. The boys had only seen him gussy up that way a tiny handful of times EVER, so they knew what a big deal it was. Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I mean, I don't think you have to dress up, Dad. I mean, nobody said anything about it, so I don't think it's required or anything." John just carried on adjusting his tie. "My son's graduating. Maybe I just feel like that's special." Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, while Dean looked down at his own apparel. "Huh. Guess I better change into a nicer shirt..." A look from the others prompted him to offer, "I mean, you know. Can't let Dad get ALL the girls. Gotta show 'em I can dress sharp, too!" John shook his head and sighed...

Once there and seated, Dean fidgeted anxiously with his program, bored to tears as the pitiful excuse for a marching band attempted to play 'Pomp and Circumstance'. "So...?" John nodded. "So read the program, it'll tell you more than I can. Band finishes playing, there's the speeches. Then they'll start calling them forward one by one. You've only gotta sit still about an hour, maybe. If that." Dean rubbed his eyes. An hour of this shit? Sam better feel loved! John smirked at Dean's frustration. "You DID beg me to stay for this." Dean scowled. Yeah, Sam damn well better feel loved...

Scanning the assembled graduates below, Dean spotted Sam in the back row. "Hey, there he is! See him?" He pointed him out to their dad. "But why's he in the back? Thought he was graduating 5th out of 193, or something. That didn't change, did it?" He hoped not! Graduating at ALL was pretty remarkable, when you moved 7-9 times a year. Graduating that high up in the... well, Dean didn't know what you called it, rankings, or scales, or hierarchy, or whatever? It showed just exactly how good of a student Sam was, how smart, committed, persevering. If they had been able to stay in one school, there was no doubt that Sam would've placed even higher - maybe even been valedictorian, himself! Sam had EARNED his 5th spot, deserved it! So what the hell were they shoving Sam to the back of the line, for? Dean was just about to get riled up and give somebody a piece of his mind, until John placed a hand on his arm. "Calm down, Dean. It's fine. Valedictorian and salutatorian are the only two that are in line based on their grades. Everyone else is in alphabetical order. Not a lot of letters after W." Oh, yeah. Duh. Dean knew that...

Forty minutes later, Dean had ignored three ridiculously long-winded speeches, and was readying the cheap disposable camera they'd grabbed from a drugstore on the way. Dean had already taken a couple, one of their dad standing beside the overflowing parking lot all dressed up, another of Sam scratching his ass behind the car before they walked in. Names began to be called, little clusters of family and friends standing up to applaud their own kid that was officially finished with school. Apparently, half the town had names that started with H, if all the Hamiltons, Harmonds, Harpers, Hoopers, and Hudsons were any indication. Dean scooted to the edge of his seat as they began to call the T names. There was a Wilson, then...

"Winchester, Samuel." John and Dean both bounded up out of their seats, a-hooping and a-hollering and clapping and carrying on as though their section had caught fire. "GO GET 'EM, SAM! YEAH!" Even John got loud and excitable for a minute, roaring out, "THAT'S MY BOY!" Sam Winchester may have only had two people clapping for him, but they made twice as much noise as many other groups of ten or more! Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for John to collect himself enough to remember the camera and snatch it from Dean in time to snap a few shots of Sam walking up there and shaking the principal's hand. Dean might have kept right on, if John hadn't yanked him back down into his seat and shushed him so the last two graduates could have their moments in the sun, too.

Then, of course, the new graduates all tossed their caps and did their OWN hooting and jumping! Sam didn't really have any buddies he felt the need to celebrate with, so he hurried off straightaway to meet up with his family, throwing himself into his dad's arms, all three of them grinning from ear to ear. After snapping a few more pictures, they left the rented cap and gown with the secretary who they found sitting off to the side so that they wouldn't need to make a special trip to the school the next day just to drop it back off. They then piled back up in the car and headed straight back to the room. Or they would have, had Dean not insisted that they needed to stop for beer. John wasn't going to argue with that; it'd been a good evening! Once back in the room, John ordered pizza while Sam and Dean boinged around hyperactively. An extra call to Adam that week was made, so all the exuberance could be shared with their other brother, too. It was only after they'd eaten and settled down for the night that Sam quietly, almost nervously, asked the question.

"So... what next? If I'm done with school, NOW what do I do?" Dean shrugged. "Same thing we do. Get a job, go to work, make money. And just whatever you want with your spare time, now that you're permanently freed from homework and studying. Don't hafta be a nerd, anymore." Sam was too still and quiet, which concerned John. He looked down at Sam, who mumbled, "I don't know. I kinda liked school. It might be weird, not EVER going anymore." John rubbed the back of Sam's neck with his thumb trying to soothe him. "We'll figure it out. Be alright, be just fine..."


	34. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't always respond to comments. But even if I don't respond, know that they DO get read. Makes me incredibly happy just to know that anybody's even reading my stuff at all. :)

They eased into another summer. Two more hunts and an information-gathering trip meant three more moves, before their annual month by the lake in Maine with Adam. As John watched all three of them at target practice one afternoon, it suddenly struck him how GROWN they were. But of course they were. Dean was twenty-two, and Sam eighteen. They were adults, grown men. His oldest had BEEN old enough to purchase his own alcohol for nearly two years, already. The only "kid" John had left was Adam, who was eleven and growing like a weed, taller every time he saw him. He knew it, of course, that they weren't his little boys anymore. In spite of all the moments in which they chose to act as though they were still Adam's age, there was plenty of evidence that they were not. Dean worked full-time shifts right beside him in the garages, and Sam was right nigh even with him, height-wise. They drank and gambled like they'd been doing it for years, because they HAD. All the regular training he'd put them through meant that they were better with most weapons than many in the military. And of course he'd heard more than he'd ever wanted to about all of their sexual exploits. But somehow John had mostly managed to shove all of that to the back of his mind, until something about the way his GROWN SONS moved as they flung knives at trees that afternoon forced him to recognize with finality that they were, in fact, adults.

John frowned as that thought hit him with new force. Sure, he'd discussed their new status as not-minors with them, but now he was watching them and really SEEING it. And it scared him, because it meant that his chances to prepare them for life were largely over and done with. The dice had already been cast. Had he given it a GOOD roll? He wanted to flatter himself that he had, (just look at them, after all) but there was really no way to tell, yet. Nothing had happened to prove the point either one way or the other. He prayed God nothing would!

At least they were still with him. They might be legal adults, but their designation compelled them to seek safety in routines and familiar faces, which meant that he had never worried the way other parents did about the day when his children would strike out on their own. Omegas almost always stayed with their families, right up until they joined with a mate. And not only were mates hard to come by when you moved as often as they did, but his being a 'hunter' meant that they were more aware of the dangers of mating than most omegas were. With everything they knew and had seen and/or heard, John doubted his boys would just casually let themselves be taken by the first alpha to come along. That might or might not be particularly true of Adam just yet, but Adam was still young, hadn't even presented yet. He had years yet to deal with Adam. So John decided that he didn't need to worry with it. His boys were well-trained in self-defense tactics that they would never need, because they were safe with him. They'd stay together on the road, and he'd keep as close an eye on Adam as he could, popping in a few times a year. Life would be about as OK as it generally can be in this sorry world, after your wife is taken from you. At least his sons weren't going anywhere...

At least, that was what John told himself, right up until Sam decided to rip his heart out and step on it. That might be an overly-dramatic way to phrase it, but that was certainly how it felt to John. After dropping Adam back in Windom with Kate, and spending more than a few minutes calming down both of his mildly distressed older sons, he lead them up towards South Dakota. Things were quiet in the hunting world, so with so many consecutive empty slots on their calendars, John decided to take them up to Bobby's. It'd been a while since he'd seen his friend, and if they were maybe going to have weeks to kill until the next hunt, they might as well spend them in a HOUSE instead of a sleazy motel room. The older hunter was always glad for help out in his salvage yard, and they could save the money they would've wasted otherwise, and give Sam a more comfortable place to settle for a short while, after the upset that leaving Adam again had given him. To Bobby's it was!

When they pulled in, Bobby waved at them from beneath the hood of an almost completely totalled station wagon, yelling, "Go on in, I'mma be a minute! Git yerself somethin' to drink, and hell, bring me a glass o' somethin', too!" John smiled at his boys and jerked his head at the house, before walking over to his friend. "You heard the man. Bring me something while you're at it, too." They nodded, "Yes, sir." John and Bobby shot the breeze for a few minutes until they walked back out, Sam with a tray with four glasses of iced tea, Dean with an armful of beer bottles. Bobby raised an eyebrow. "How thirsty'd you reckon I was? Unless y'all gonna drink all that..." Dean sniffed. "Told him not to bother with all that, that beer'd do just fine." Sam sent Dean one of the specialty looks he reserved just for brothers being idiots. "And I told HIM it's too hot out here for alcohol right now, that you'd want to cool off some first, so it won't upset your stomach." Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, you do realize that's why people call a beer 'a cold one'? Because it's cold, and cools you off?" Bobby wiped his hands on his pants. "Aw, hell, gimme the tea. Boy's that worried about my stomach, least I can do is drink it 'fore the bugs use it fer a swimmin' pool. Beer's got a cap on it, and can wait." Sam grinned in triumph as Bobby picked up a glass and muttered, "Even found straws and lemons. Forgot I HAD straws and lemons..." John had been just about to down a glass of tea, himself, before that gave him pause. "Wait. Are these lemons even still good? Sam, how old were those lemons?" Bobby shook his head. "They're fine. Neighbor down the street gave 'em to me the other day, claimed she accidentally bought too many. Marcy. Think she was just looking for a reason to visit - not that I mind at all..." Dean grinned. "Yeah? She into you? Hot?" John and Bobby both gave him the stinkeye, as Bobby warned, "You leave Ms. Ward be. More'n enough young girls bouncin' around, so you let a man handle the grown women, alright, boy?" Dean gaped, uncertain whether or not to be offended. Sam and John laughed...

It was later that evening, as they all crowded around in the kitchen fixing supper, that Bobby inadvertently started it. "Oh. Sam, lookit up there on top the fridge. Got some mail for you a while back, been savin' it." John looked up from the taters he was peeling. "Kind of mail? Is all of it for Sam?" He half supposed it was really for him, and maybe Bobby just sent Sam to fetch it. But Bobby didn't get a chance to answer, before Sam plopped down in a chair and answered for him. "Yeah. My name, Samuel Winchester." He ripped open envelopes and started reading the contents with a peculiar intensity. Dean turned around from the pot he'd been stirring. "So? What is it?" But Sam didn't answer. He just stared at one of the letters, glanced at another, and then stared at the first again, obviously deep in thought. Dean tugged on a fly-away in Sam's hair. "Dude, what is it, already?" Sam didn't look up from the letters in his hand. "Um. Acceptance letters. To school."

A long, silent pause. It was Dean that broke it. "Whatcha mean, to school? Dude, you graduated, you're done with that shit. Call 'em in the morning, tell 'em to take you off the list or whatever, 'cause you graduated. Which, hey, yeah, we gotta show you pictures, Bobby. Most ain't even blurry!" Sam finally looked up. "Yeah... But, these letters. They're for college. University. And apparently I've won a scholarship..." Bobby was nodding his polite congratulations (he'd won a spelling bee once in fourth grade, so he got that this was something to be proud of) when John set his arms down on the table. "When'd you go applying to colleges, son?" Sam was back to staring at his letters. "That guidance counselor all the seniors had to meet up with a few months ago." John was NOT happy. He leaned over and pointed his potato peeler at Sam. "And how much money did you let her talk you into wasting? Applying to colleges is expensive. You TALK to me before you blow large chunks of money! That's a bit more than just grabbing a Coke or something!" Sam looked up, startled. "No, sir! No, Dad, I didn't spend a thing. She said that everyone that scored just so high on their ACT or SAT got to apply to one for free. Some kind of school program. She sent me an application to the community college across the street, just 'cause she sent everybody an application over there, and then she said I could pick one more school. I didn't even know, so we had this whole long talk about it, and she said she thought Stanford would be perfect. So that's where we sent it. And this letter - they accepted it, I got in. And I won't have to pay anything to be there, either. This other letter says full scholarship." Sam had that far-away look going again. John sat back slowly, while Dean just kept up stirring. Another moment of silence.

"Well." It was Bobby breaking it, this time. "That's somethin'. Always knew you's a smart one, 'specially after that well pump you built, that's still workin', too. Good on ya, boy." Sam smiled, then looked at his dad. John sighed and nodded. "Glad Stanford can see what we've seen all along. But you put that away, so we can finish up and eat tonight." Sam nodded, folded his letters up, shoved them into his pocket, and went back to slicing onions. Nothing else was said, and John dared hope that was the end of it, but of course it wasn't. For two days Sam could be seen pulling those letters out and re-reading them at every slow point. Every quiet, unbusy moment found him reading them again. John could feel something brewing, but he ignored it...

It was after midnight that third night when Sam rolled over and shook Dean awake. "Hey. Dean. Wake up..." Dean grunted and tucked himself deeper into the blanket. "What?" Sam propped himself up on one arm. "Those letters I got?" "Yeah?" "Well, I think I wanna do it." Okay, NOW Dean was awake. He sat up and glared at Sam's shadow beside him. "Do WHAT? Go to freakin' college? The hell, man? Like how?" Sam huffed. "Like, go out there, sign forms, register for classes, and DO IT. Go to college." Dean stared at the lump beside him, certain it was talking out its ass. "Yeah, right, man. You can't do that." The dark prevented Dean from seeing the look Sam gave him. "Uh, yeah. I can. That's why they sent the letter, Dean. To tell me that I could. And I think I will." Dean rolled over. "No you won't, 'cause it's a bad idea. Dad'll never let you." Sam bristled. "Actually, it's a pretty FABULOUS idea, Dean. Stanford's supposed to be one of the best schools in the country. Degree from there, and I could get pretty much any job I wanted. I could get a world-class tertiary education for FREE, learn stuff I might not get the chance to, otherwise. AND I'd have a steady place to be for four years. Quit all this moving around for a while." Dean began feeling and sounding desperate. "But... I mean, Dad'll never let you. We can't go with you, and no way is Dad gonna let you run off by yourself for FOUR YEARS. I mean, he gets all worried when we go to the bathroom by ourselves in a bar. You taking off for some school for years would give him a stroke!" Sam sat all the way up. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure a major university is a lot safer place to be than some hole-in-the-wall roadside bar. And besides, it's not like I'm running off to do something stupid. I'd be doing something Dad could be proud of, something he should WANT me to do. I think he'll be fine with it." Dean scooted closer and laid his head against Sam, swallowing. "So what, you just gonna leave us like that? Ditch us for school? Not cool, Sammy..." Sam paused a moment, before laying back down and snuggling into his brother. "Maybe you could come, too." Dean snorted. "Don't think I'm invited. No letter and scholarship for me." Sam tucked in closer still. "Well, you and Dad can come visit me all the time..." Dean sniffed at Sam's neck for several seconds, before mumbling, "I dunno. You and school suck..."

Dean was quiet the next morning, but Sam was in an unusually good mood. He was practically skipping during their run. During the morning meal that Bobby'd put together while they showered, he opened his mouth and laid it all out there. "So, Dad. Those acceptance letters I got? Think I'm gonna take 'em up on it. Stanford, not the community college. I have an appointment with this lady in about a month, I'll call her up after we eat and confirm it." John just kept calmly chewing, and spoke between bites. "No."

You could have heard a pin drop. Sam stared, obviously not having expected that to be the response he'd get. "No? What do you mean, No?" John sopped up his gravy and took a sip of his coffee before speaking again. "I mean no. Same thing I always mean by no. No." Sam dropped his fork, and shoved his plate. "I said I'm going to college. You can't just say NO!" John pointed at him with half a biscuit. "Well, I DID say no. So you quit slamming Bobby's dishes around, before you break something. That's no way to act when somebody cooks breakfast for you." Sam looked at Bobby and Dean before kicking the chair with a huff. "It's not even about breakfast! I told you I was going to school, meeting up with a lady here in a month. And you said NO. What exactly are you even no-ing?" John eyed Sam over his coffee. "I'm no-ing all of it. You're not going to school. What else do we need to talk about?" Sam stood up so fast it jarred the whole table. "That's bullshit, Dad! You can't tell me NO, that I can't go to school! I'll... I'll go if I want!" Bobby and Dean both looked as if they wanted nothing so badly as to disappear. Dean actually looked almost scared, as their dad slowly stood up to stick a finger in Sam's face. "I CAN tell you no, and you'll accept what you're told without making a scene in somebody's kitchen!" Sam was livid, and looked almost ready to fight as he pushed his chair to the side. "That's... no way! That's not even fair! You don't get to say no to stuff like that! I'm not a little kid to tell what to do anymore, Dad!" Before John could react, Bobby - who still didn't look like he was quite awake yet - banged his fist down. "Y'all can argue this point all day long somewhere that ain't my table! I ain't dealing with y'all's shit first thing in the morning while I'm trying to eat, so y'all get the hell elsewhere with it. You're welcome back in when you're done!" John and Sam froze a moment, before John finally pointed at his plate, sat down, and spoke softly. "I'm gonna finish eating. I'll talk to you when I'm done." Sam glowered a moment, before plopping back down and stabbing a bite of egg into his mouth with unnecessary ferocity. Bug-eyed Dean just sat there, nervously twiddling his butter knife. John jerked his chin at his oldest, without ever once taking his eyes off Sam. "Finish up. Eat." Dean looked down and stuffed a bite in his mouth. "Uh. Yes, sir. Eating." Bobby just shook his head. "Too damn early in the morning for this shit..."

Everyone having eaten, John stepped out on the porch as Sam and Dean moved to wash up like usual, but Bobby shoved them away from the sink. "Oh, hell, no. Y'all go talk to yer daddy. Don't be stewing in bad blood, not here at my place. You start shit, Sam, you can go deal with it. Out. Now." Sam huffed, but went. Dean followed.  
They found their father sitting and gazing out at the horizon. Sam stopped and stood a few feet away, clenching his fists. John looked up and patted the chair next to him. After a moment's hesitation, Sam sat down. Dean took a seat on the other side of the porch. 

"Be glad you're eighteen, getting loud with me like that..." Sam huffed and picked at a button on his shirt. "Yeah, well, that's kind of what I was saying, Dad. That I'm eighteen now. Not a kid. Saying 'no' isn't fair anymore." John watched him a second. "Did it cross your mind WHY I might've said no?" Sam looked up. "No. It didn't. It's a great opportunity, Dad. I thought you'd be proud." John looked over at a bird settling down on a wire. "Of course I'm proud. It isn't everyone's son does so well in school that they get invited to a name-brand university for free. It's an honor, and I know that. But I'm still telling you 'no'." Sam was getting upset. "But WHY? Dad, a free education? It's a good thing. I really SHOULD do it!" John sighed. "Because you're an omega, Sam." Well, if THAT didn't egg Sam on! "AND??? What's that got to do with anything? It's not like there's rules against certain sexual designations attending! 21st century, Dad!" John settled weary eyes on Sam. "No, there's not. If you really want to, no laws stand in your way. But it's not safe, Sam. And you know it's not. You'd be on your own. Dean and I can't stay in the dorms with you, can't accompany you around from class to class. You can't carry a gun on campus, and we've seen how useless 'salt' is as protection. You'd be wide open. Beta girls get raped at colleges all the time, and they're stronger than you, Sam. And beta girls don't put off the scent you do, either. An alpha walks by and gets a whiff of you, and what do you think's gonna happen? No." Sam wiggled in irritation. "But that's why you taught us to fight, Dad. And I can still carry a pocket knife, as long as it's small. It's what you trained us for all these years, right? So we could take care of ourselves? Dad, I think I can do it." John shook his head. "Maybe you could, Sam, but why risk it? Why ASK for it? I HAD to send you to high school. And I tried to do you a favor, letting you stay 'til graduation, when I could've and probably SHOULD'VE yanked you out of there the day you turned 16. You got a year more schooling than Dean did, more than either me or Bobby. I'm not against schooling, but in your case, getting too ambitious means putting yourself in danger that you don't have to. A fancy degree won't be worth the paper it's printed on, if you're dead or trapped with someone that's just going to abuse you for the rest of your life. Rather have you safe and sound, son. That's why I'm telling you 'no'." 

Sam looked devastated. "But Dad, I WANT to. I've practically been handed the keys to the kingdom, and you're telling me not to use 'em! I mean, I understand that you want me to be safe, I do, but it's not FAIR. Here's this golden opportunity that so many people would give their left leg for, and I'm supposed to just throw it all away? That's such a waste!" He half expected his father to follow that with his usual bit on how the world ISN'T fair, but found himself blind-sided, instead. "Golden opportunity for what, Sam? What is it you want to do so badly, that college is your ticket to? What exactly's gonna be closed off to you if you don't go? Which dream's gonna be shattered? Tell me, son. Maybe there's another way to go about it, one where you don't have to go be a sitting duck." Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Umm... Education! It's a valuable tool. I mean..." John leaned closer. "No, Sam, tell me. What is it you're wanting out of this? You know good and well that if we actually spent real time and energy at it, that the three of us could make more money playing cards and pool in a week than a lot of college-educated jobs pay in a month, so it's not about money in the future. Or have you got big plans to be a famous rocket scientist or lawyer? Tell us, Sam, what are you really gonna get out of this?" Sam refused to let himself flounder. "Y-yeah. Yeah, Dad. Maybe I'll go study law, be a lawyer. That's a good idea, Dad. Think I'll do that. Thanks." John grabbed Sam's face, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. "I may not even have the GED your brother has, but I'm not stupid, boy. If all you want is a place to stay so you don't have to keep moving, we'll go back inside and talk to Bobby. He made Dean that offer, I'm sure he'd extend the same to you. This is a place where I know you'd be safe. Or at Jim's. Maybe you'd rather stay with a preacher than at a salvage yard. You'd be closer to Adam there, too, only about an hour away. See your little brother more. I know Jim would love to have you, someone he could talk church to. So if it's just about setting up shop somewhere longer term, SAY THAT." 

A few seconds ticked by. Sam bit his lip to keep from crying, before closing his eyes and nodding. A whispered, "Yes, sir." John let go of Sam's jaw, switched to rubbing the back of his neck and petting his hair. Sam leaned on his dad's shoulder, feeling drained. He felt Dean come and press against his other side, and clutched at his dad's shirt. "But Dad..." John looked down at his son, gone from wild, fit-throwing anger to limp placidity. "Yeah, Sam?" Sam swallowed. "I just... I need to stay somewhere where there's PEOPLE." John thought on that for half a second. "Maybe Jim's would be better than here, then? Always visitors at a pastor's house, and he'd have you in church each week. You could go to all the prayer meetings and mission reports and what-not, too." Sam shifted, pushing his nose further into his father's neck. "Yeah, but..." John sighed. "But what, Sam? Gotta talk to me, son. I can't ALWAYS read minds..." Sam squirmed. "That's... that's just not ENOUGH people. I need to go somewhere where I can meet new people, LOTS of them. And maybe not just betas. Everybody there in Blue Earth's a beta, except the dying omegas that stay with him sometimes. Dying omegas every once in a while don't really count. Plus that would just be awful, Dad. I don't wanna live in the same house with people that smell like that. I'm an omega, but I'm not dying, Dad. Smelling that so much would probably make ME sick, too, after a while." John stiffened. "Of course." A pause. "You want to go somewhere where you might meet at least a few healthy non-betas." Sam nodded. "Sam." He looked up, John looked down. "You... you want to find an alpha." Sam swallowed and shoved his nose back in John's neck, before nervously whispering, "Yes." 

John felt like HE might get sick. He took a few deep breaths. "And THAT is exactly why I'm saying 'no' again. So you don't wind up staying with Pastor Jim for the worst reasons." Sam didn't even get angry. He just wiped his eyes on his father's shoulder every couple minutes, and pretended he wasn't crying.

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He wound up going, of course. A month of pleading, arguing, commanding, and bribing by both John and Dean ultimately did no good. (They had a month to focus on it, because Bobby quietly put word out that John Winchester had his hands full, give hunts to somebody else for a while.) Sam, though, had made up his mind, and he'd come by his stubbornness honestly. He tried to explain that it wasn't just a whim, not just a youthful, flighty impulse. That getting situated in life was a NEED. A burning, desperate NEED that had been building for years. He HAD to, and going to a large school seemed like his best shot. He needed to stop moving and uprooting his life, yes, but he also had a very genuine NEED to position himself where he might find a suitable mate. NEEDED to. He used the word 'need' more in that month than he probably had all the rest of his life previous put together. How to make them understand? Only Dean, as a fellow omega, even came close to comprehending as he tried to tell them things he knew he probably should have been telling them all along. About how alphas' scents just grew progressively more appealing all the time. About how heats just got WORSE each time. About how lonely it felt to think of never mating, no matter how much he loved his family. About how much he wanted to start his OWN family, in a real home. John interjected that he had no objections to Sam finding a good woman to settle down with, and Sam was glad to hear it. BUT, he'd still have to slow down and stay put in one place for a while if he was to find such a woman, a woman willing to not just bed a male omega for a night, but commit to caring for one long-term. A woman willing to do things rather backwards from the way society said that male/female relationships should be. Being weaker and susceptible to twice-yearly heats, Sam knew he would have to find a SPECIAL woman. Unless, of course, he found a decent alpha first.

And THAT was where the conversation always went to hell in a handbasket. John just couldn't handle the idea of his son with an alpha. He might have told Dean years before that who he chose to mate with was his choice, but it set him off every time it was brought up, because he just KNEW that a union like that would be catastrophic. He'd seen it too many times. If Sam hooked up with a woman (or even a beta man) and it went sour, he could leave and find someone else, but if Sam was mated to an alpha, leaving wouldn't be an option. He would either have to stay in the misery, or die. And what kind of choice was that? The idea of losing his son that way sent John into a tailspin. He couldn't even talk rationally about it. NO. Just, NO. Arguments turned into yelling matches, that turned into things thrown and fists through walls.

But Sam wound up going. John couldn't actually stop him, not without holding him captive or something else ridiculous. So three nights before Sam's appointment with the woman at the school, as Sam was sniffling and throwing his stuff into his duffel bag in a rush to go catch a Greyhound bus, John grabbed his arm. "STOP, Sam. Just stop. I'll take you there. We'll drive you." Sam had been just about to yell and argue some more, but found the wind taken out of his sails.

"..."

John let go of Sam's arm. "You try taking a bus there by yourself, I'll forget you're eighteen and wear you out 'til you won't be ABLE to sit on a bus. So stop. We'll leave in the morning." Sam stared, wanting to believe it, but not at all sure that this wasn't a trick, just a way to make sure he'd miss the bus and not make his appointment, and have to forgo starting school that semester. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because John nodded at Dean, who sat NOT CRYING on the bed. (He wasn't crying, damn it. Sam was just an ass getting ready to leave everybody. He WASN'T crying about it. Just all the dust in his eyes, stirred up from everybody stomping around.) "Your brother can drive you there. We'll take the Impala, and all ride together. You hear me, Dean? I'm telling you to drive us to Stanford, California tomorrow. We'll find us a cheap room as close to the school as we can, and walk Sam right to the door when it's time. Those are orders, Dean." Dean straightened up. "Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir. Stanford in the morning. Got it." John turned back to Sam. "You heard what I told him. We're taking you. None of this hopping a bus late at night by yourself. You're that set on going, at least let me get you there safely." Sam threw his arms around John. "Dad, I..." John just sighed and put a hand on Sam's neck. "Save it, son. Just get over here and sniff your brother, before he has a panic attack, or something." Dean couldn't even find the wherewithal to object, just clung to Sam and DIDN'T CRY. (Because that was not what he was doing. He was just hugging his idiot brother that was driving everybody crazy. That was all.)

None of them got any sleep that night. At some point in the wee hours before dawn, Sam and Dean got up and crawled into bed with John. They were WAY too old to both pile up with him that way, but he didn't say anything, knowing full-well how possible it was that this might be one of the last times it would happen. NO sleep was had, but John forced himself to appreciate having them both so near. Sam and Dean shifted constantly, sniffing him and each other. As though they were trying especially hard to memorize the scents...

They drug downstairs in the morning, pulled down by the smell of coffee. Bobby shoved a gallon jug of juice at them. "Toaster waffles alright?" They nodded. Breakfast was a quiet affair. At the end, as Sam and Dean washed everything, John looked at the wall behind Bobby. "Appreciate you taking us in for a while. Hope the work in the yard made up for all the groceries and hot water." Bobby grunted. "You know it did. Was my pleasure. Always enjoy you three - when you ain't yelling over my dinner table." John watched Sam put a plate away. "My apologies." Bobby took a draught of his coffee. "Eh. Might almost forgive you someday..."

After a quick run, showers, and good-byes with Bobby, they were on the road, John in the back, Sam sprawled out and leaning against Dean. John frowned at that a second, before deciding to just let it go. The first couple hours were quiet before they all relaxed, it feeling ALMOST like a move before the truck, when there'd only been one vehicle. Then Dean found something on the radio he liked, and started singing along at top volume. Sam smirked as Dean began using his fingers like drumsticks on the steering wheel, throwing his head back at every chord change. Sam rolled his eyes, before joining in on air guitar just as enthusiastically. John just watched. 

It wasn't until after the tacos they grabbed for lunch that the conversation they'd been avoiding happened. It was mostly John and Sam's conversation, Dean just staring out the windshield stiffly, adding only the occasional muttered comment. "We'll be out there when it gets close to your heat. We'll work out the details as it gets closer to time, but Sam, you'll have to be more AWARE. You call us the second you think you feel anything LIKE heat, or get to Health Services and have them call us. Don't let yourself slide into it alone, Sam." Quiet nod. "I won't, Dad." "And 'salt'. Use it. Shouldn't be a problem. Even if you can't scatter it all over the floor, at least keep it in your shoes and pockets, and along the windowsills. Put a little in your pillowcase, under your sheets. Your backpack, even. May not do much good, but do it anyway." Another nod. "Yes, sir."

A moment of silence. "We call Adam every week. We'll call you, too. So keep your phone charged." Sam didn't get a chance to respond, before Dean busted in with, "Screw that. I'm calling you every NIGHT. And you damn well better answer." Sam grinned. "Uh, huh." Dean glared. "I'm fuckin' serious. I call more than a couple times and you don't answer, I'm driving straight out there. Lemme find out you're fine and just dicking around, and I'll kick your ass." Sam couldn't contain his amusement. "Aww, Dean. Don't worry, I wouldn't ignore you. I'll totally stay in contact." Dean mumbled, "Fuckin' better. Oughta kick your ass, anyway, fuckin' leaving people..." Sam snuggled into Dean's side, content for the moment. He would have called every night, anyway...

The closest motel to the school that was under $80 a night was almost ten miles out. They didn't get there until almost 6:00am - though that was still a few hours faster than most trip calculators said it should've taken. The rest of the day and night they spent piled up, killing time and dozing intermittently. John mostly spent it staring at Sam, running a thumb over the back of his neck, pleading with whatever heavenly powers be that his boy would be alright once he dropped him off and left.

The next morning they went through their normal run-shower-breakfast routine on autopilot, then sat on a low wall outside the building Sam needed to be in for his meeting. They sat there, Sam tucked in the middle with his duffle and backpack, for almost an hour, ignoring the looks they got from passersby. Sam fidgeted constantly, turning every few minutes to sniff at one or the other family members on either side of him, torn between excitement and dread. Finally, a few minutes before Sam had to go in, John couldn't take the silence any longer and started running down the checklist. "You got your phone?" "Yes, sir." "Knife?" "Yessir." "Pills?" "Yeah." "Lemme know when you're running low, we'll send you some more." "Yes, sir." A couple seconds of silence. "Salt?" "Yes, sir." More silence. "Still know Bobby and Jim's info?" "Yeah." "Lemme hear it." It was recited. John nodded. 

A couple minutes went by, and then it was time for Sam to head on in. He had an appointment, after all. They probably could have gone in with him, but it would have just dragged the leaving out longer. They stood up, the two brothers clutching and sniffing at each other with barely concealed panic. John let them have a moment before peeling Sam out of Dean's arms and squeezing him. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of Sam's head. "You watch out, behave, take care of yourself." Sam hugged him tighter. John patted his shoulder. "Better get in there, unless you're changing your mind." Sam nodded, picked up his bags, and started to walk in, before turning around. 

"I mean, I'll come back. During breaks and stuff-" John shook his head. "No. No you won't. You do this, you're gonna stay right here. Stay put 'til we come back for YOU. Don't want you out traveling alone. Anything could happen like that." Sam swallowed, nodded, turned again and went in.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Dean had gone great lengths to hold his face studiously blank the whole morning. They were more than a few minutes down the road before he finally let himself cry, and admit that it wasn't dust in his eyes.


	35. Absence

John drank fairly often, but hadn't actually gotten full-on DRUNK in years. The night after they dropped Sam off, he figured it was high-time he tried it again.

He'd meant to get back to Bobby's and retrieve his truck, but being upset after more than a week of almost no sleep, they didn't make it that far. A few miles past Evanston, Wyoming, he called it quits. Dean would have kept right on going, but John could SEE how tired he was, and John didn't feel like taking the wheel from him. They found first a liquor store and then a motor inn, where between the two of them they put down five-and-a-half bottles of the cheapest off-brand, rot-gut whiskey the place had sold, something that tasted as awful as they both felt. Neither of them said more than ten words to the other all night, though Dean stayed stuck to his father's side like a leech, nuzzling insistently at him between pulls at the jugs in a way he hadn't since he was small. 

At some point John came to and found himself on the floor against the wall, the light still on, with Dean curled up asleep in his lap. Something squeezed inside his chest as he stared at the tear tracks on Dean's cheek. He reached for the half-empty whiskey bottle beside him, but wound up knocking it over and spilling it. He sighed and thunked his head back against the wall, before noticing his cell phone blinking on the table above him. He reached up to grab it and tried to read the several missed texts through still-blurry eyes.

11:01PM: "Weird sleeping alone, even with roommate in bunk above."  
11:27PM: "Why isn't Dean answering either calls or texts? Dean always answers. Tell Dean I'll kick HIS ass if he doesn't answer."  
12:03AM: "I bet you two are asleep. I'll call tomorrow."  
12:49AM: "Wish you and Dean could stay here with me. I don't like sleeping alone."  
1:04AM: "I love you."

John struggled to force his still half-drunken mind and thumbs to cooperate so that he could send a reply.

3:26AM: "we were sleep love you too sam be safe"

John dropped the phone and sighed. Damn it. Was texting supposed to be that hard, take that long? He reached blindly for the bottle, and found a wet spot on the carpet. Oh, that's right. Spilled it. He pet Dean a moment, before picking his phone back up. Had he been less inebriated, he probably would have looked at the time before calling Bobby.

"John? You on your way? Coulda called before three-thirty!" John shook his head. "No, no we're, uh... (he paused, tried to remember where he was but couldn't) we're in motel. Get there tomorrow." Bobby grunted. "You're drunk, huh?" John nodded. "Yeah." There was silence a minute, before Bobby spoke again, quieter. "Coulda come got drunk here with me. I'm sure I've got something 'round here better than whatever cheap battery-acid-laced rhinoceros piss y'all probably chose to swallow." John stared across the room, tears forming but not falling. "Dropped Sammy off." Bobby's reply was soft. "Yeah. I know." John pet Dean's head. "Dropped my omega son off. School big as a small town. Even bigger town all around. Left him there. All by himself." "I know, John." "I left him, Bobby." Bobby sighed. "Only 'cause he wanted it, John. Ain't like you just abandoned the boy." John's voice cracked. "Shouldn't a done it. Shoudn't a drove him. Shoulda kept him." Bobby clicked his tongue. "No sense beatin' yourself up, John. Say, uh, look. Maybe you wanna eat a bite, get you some sleep? We can talk on it tomorrow..." John nodded. "Yeah. Night." Bobby paused. "Night, John." Click. John stared at the phone for a long moment, before setting it down. He didn't get up to turn off the light, just lay down and tugged Dean closer before passing out.

About five forty-five, Dean finally rolled off his dad and stumbled to the bathroom, waking John up in the process. The sun wasn't quite up yet, but John squinted against the lamp that was still on until Dean walked back and turned it off. "Hey, Dad?" It was almost a whisper, hesitant. "Yeah." "Maybe you want in the bed? 'Stead of the floor?" John laid there and thought on it a moment. "Yeah." He pushed himself up with a grunt, lurched over and fell on the nearest bed. He heard Dean pull the blanket off the other bed, felt him snuggle next to him and drape it over them both. Wasn't right, his boy taking care of him. He was the daddy, that was HIS job...

But he was too drunk to do anything about it, so he just laid there. Then rolled over, put a hand on Dean's neck. "Not gonna... not leaving, are you?" Dean pushed his nose under John's chin. "No, sir." Silence. John didn't know how much time went by, but it must have been a while, because when Dean spoke again there was sunshine streaming around the curtain that wasn't quite big enough for the window. "Bet Sam's up. Bet we could call him." John closed his eyes. "Yeah. Do that." Dean got up in search of his phone. "Whoa. He was texting us all night. We must've been FUCKED UP to miss that many..." John almost half remembered something about a text. "Yeah..." 

Then Dean was talking to Sam, and John just listened. The change in Dean's voice was remarkable. Happy, excited, laughing. Everything they hadn't been last night. John let bits and pieces filter in. "...didn't even see 'em, dude... Yeah... Weird you not being here..." John groaned. He had no idea how Dean was standing upright, let alone having a sensible conversation. Boy's metabolism was scary. A few minutes went by. "Yeah, but hey, here's Dad..." Dean's cell was shoved in his face. He brought it to his ear. "Sam." "Hey, Dad. Got your text last night." "Yeah. You... uh, 'salt'?" "Yes, sir." A few moments of Sam's idle chatter later, he must have been drifting off, because Sam was yelling. "DAD? DAD!" "Yeah..." "Wow. You really ARE drunk, aren't you?" "Guess so...." "Um. OK. Guess I'll let you sleep, then. Talk to you tonight?" "Yeah..." Dean took the phone again. "...Yeah, he's pretty out of it... Yeah... back to Bobby's, then I don't know... Yeah, later, bro. I'm calling you tonight!... Yeah..."

John didn't wake up again until after eleven, when Dean put a warm sandwich in his hand. "Hey, Dad. Lunch." John blinked. "Uhh... Thanks." He sat up and breathed for a second, before looking at Dean. "Shouldn't leave without letting me know." Dean fiddled with his own sandwich's wrapper. "Yeah... I left you a note. I know, I probably shoulda waited. Got hungry, though, and you looked like you were just gonna keep sleeping forever." John grunted. "Just hope you had your phone and a gun on you." "Yes, sir."

They ate in silence. John took stock of Dean's nervous fidgeting. "You alright, son?" Dean looked down at the carpet. "Guess I will be." He continued bouncing his knee. "We going for a run?" John could've kicked himself. He'd been hung up on his own distress, without thinking about how much this was upsetting Dean, too. With the brother he'd spent half his waking moments beside gone, his daily routines would be even more important to him. They'd already skipped yesterday's normal target practice. So even though John wanted to do nothing so badly as sleep a few more hours and then head straight to Bobby's, he knew that wouldn't do Dean any good at all. "Yeah. Yeah, son, let's do it..." They only went around the block a couple times before coming back to shower, grab their stuff, and go.

They made it back to Sioux Falls by 8:30pm. Bobby was on his porch with a beer. "Leftovers in the fridge, if you want 'em. Barbeque chicken and beans. I eat all the cornbread, so y'all missed out on that." Dean nodded his thanks and headed in to warm it up, while John plopped down next to Bobby. "Got another one of those?" Bobby eyed him a second before handing one over. "You ain't still swimmin' after last night?" John sighed. "Last night..." He looked off into the yard and swallowed. "Last night I might've needed that." Bobby scratched his elbow. "Wish I had something great to tell you. But I DO know that your boys are as prepared to defend themselves as any omegas ever were, and that big schools have security and what-not. He'll... he'll probably be fine, John. More'n likely." John sighed again. "Sure, unless he goes LOOKING for trouble. All but said that was what he wanted to do." Bobby just took a drink of his beer. John squeezed his so hard it was a wonder he didn't break the glass, anger flaring. "Stupid boy. So what if he's eighteen? He wants to play fast and loose with his life like some ignorant child, I should've TREATED him like a child. Kept him close, right beside me." Bobby shook his head. "Ain't never had none of my own, but ain't that what kids his age do? Strike out, go find a life? Hell, it's what YOU did, right? Runnin' off to join the military?" It was John's turn to shake his head. "Different. I was a beta." Bobby shrugged. "Maybe not so different. Gettin' shipped off to Vietnam wasn't exactly safe, either. Lotta boys didn't come back. You coulda been one a those that didn't. Seems like a similar kinda risk to me." John huffed. "Wanted my boys to be smarter than me." Bobby smiled. "Well, if it's any consolation, he DID get himself a full ride to a good school. Might be half a brain in there, somewhere."

John lined himself up a hunt to get to the very next day. He and Dean got back into the swing of things as best they could, just minus John's middle boy. Dean took extra shifts, extra hours as often as he could at the jobs he worked, just to keep his mind occupied and off of what he couldn't do anything about. He DID call Sam every night. It was a good thing they had switched to an unlimited minutes plan on their phones sometime back, all the talking they did. The nightly phone calls helped some, but they did nothing for the emptiness of the nights.

The nights were what got Dean. He was used to being away from Sam during the day. They had gone to different schools, worked different jobs, gone off on separate small adventures from time to time. But at night? There hadn't been a single night since they lost their mother that Dean hadn't slept in the same bed beside his little brother. Even when he took off occasionally to "spend the night" with some girl, he never really spent the whole night. He'd have a sporting good time and maybe lay there with her and chat for a short while after, but he never stayed. He always came back to whatever room they were staying in at the time, to curl up with Sam. It was a routine, like morning runs and afternoon target practice. It was just what he did, part of the fabric of his life. Sleep meant Sam. It meant snuggling up with an obnoxiously nerdy sibling, whispering about the day's happenings until their dad finally told them to cut it out and go to sleep. Only now he didn't have Sam to fall asleep with, and it disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

John understood this, and tried his best to be patient when Dean persisted in getting in bed with him EVERY NIGHT. He didn't mind it so much on occasion, but every night? They were both grown men, and even though absolutely nothing untoward was happening, still. John knew what it looked like. It just wasn't done. Attempts to explain that to Dean only met with blank, closed-off stares. Dean had nothing to say, other than, "Yes, sir." John continued getting rooms with two beds, even though it was a total waste. John would sometimes specifically instruct Dean to get in the other bed, but every morning he woke up with Dean wrapped around him anyway, face smushed into his side. The one morning that he finally told Dean off about it, the poor kid had looked so wounded that John had immediately caved and said never mind, it was fine, Dean could sleep where he would, sleeping with him was fine. He just wanted to make sure Dean was AWARE of how unusual such a sleeping arrangement was? But it was fine... (John figured sometimes you just had to choose your battles, and this one wasn't worth winning.)

It was touch in general. Neither Dean nor John had ever really noticed just how much physical contact the two brothers had typically had, until Sam wasn't there for Dean to touch at all. The lack left Dean feeling restless, itchy, unsettled. John touched him, of course. He had always made a point to, knowing how much omegas needed it. He already hugged and patted on his sons far more than most fathers ever dreamed of doing, but it wasn't enough. John couldn't make up for the contact that had passed between his oldest two, not unless he was prepared to take touch to a whole other level that, for a beta, would be absolutely BEYOND weird. Even if John could make himself bite the bullet in such a way, it would just be... inappropriate. They got enough looks from random people, as it was. Trying to double it would just be oppressive. John couldn't spend his life with a grown man hooked to his side!

So Dean just... adapted. He (subconsciously) found ways of making sure to bump into people on the job, brushing fingers when he handed someone something, always volunteering for tasks that required two or more people to work in close proximity. All of this was subconscious, of course. He didn't deliberately plan any of it, but some part of him knew what he needed, and was determined to obtain it, one way or another! Of course, you could only touch people at work just so much. But there were also women.

Ah. Women. Dean LOVED women. He loved young, vibrant, unattached women most of all, and his pursuit of THAT kind of contact was definitely NOT subconscious! His attempts to reach out to women were right up in the forefront of his thoughts, where he was ACUTELY aware! Dean, being an omega, had always had a slightly higher-than-average libido, but now with Sam gone, he threw himself into chasing girls with a truly absurd passion. It quickly got to the point where hardly a day or a night went by without Dean finding himself some girl to get physically intimate with. John hadn't had any intentions of ever saying anything about Dean's personal lovelife; that was his business that he was entitled to as an of-age adult. As he watched Dean start throwing himself at almost everything female and halfway willing, though, he felt obliged to remind Dean that sometimes being picky was just prudent. More than once he actually pulled Dean aside in some bar to insist that Dean try and find someone that maybe wasn't obviously such a Health Department regular! Those orders were met with pouts and scowls, but it seldom took Dean very long to find himself another young woman to play with. He was a decent-enough looking young man, and he had long since learned to use that fact to his own advantage, learned just how to move and smile in all the conniving, manipulative ways that so often succeeded in getting him what he wanted. John might've found it funny, had he not been more than a little concerned about the excessive zeal Dean was pouring into it. He knew full-well that Dean was after more than just sex, whether he wanted to admit it or not. But John really didn't want his son to make a habit of just thoughtlessly using people, even if those people WERE okay with it. Nor did he want to see Dean sick, hurt, or in legal trouble...

John? He mostly just tried to focus on 'hunting', though he, too, took extra shifts in the garages when they were offered. He talked with Sam a minute each night, sent 'care packages' of 'salt' and scent suppressants. One month it occurred to him that Sam only had his one tiny pocket knife as weapon, and so sent him another. Best the boy have a second, in case something should happen to it...

All the extra shifts, plus the fact that there were now only two mouths to feed instead of three, meant that there was quite a bit more cash on hand than there had been. He tucked a $20 in each of the monthly boxes mailed out to Stanford, but also started sending more to Kate for Adam. Where he had been sending $50 each month, he started sending $200. When Kate called and asked about it, he just said that with his other boys both grown he had fewer expenses, plus he'd been getting a few more hours, so he figured it was probably time he started providing better for his youngest.

Adam was actually a great comfort to John, with Sam gone. True, he didn't have Adam consistently WITH him, but just knowing that at least one of his sons was secure in a stable home, headed by someone in the medical field (and unpresented!) helped ease John's mind considerably. He continued making certain to get up to Windom, MN at least a few times a year. Despite knowing that Sam was at school, it was still a bit of a disappointment to Adam the first time his father showed up for a weekend with only one of his brothers. Somehow Adam had thought that Sam would be able to get off to come along, too, but he was consoled with a great deal of extra petting, and a phone call to California. After talking to Sam for a minute, the rip in Adam's universe seemed to have been largely repaired, though he still stuck his bottom lip out about wishing he could SMELL Sam. Only then the bright youngster got the idea to MAIL his smell to Sam, sending him one of his dirty t-shirts, along with a note requesting that Sam do the same. Kate, of course, was appalled, and only permitted Adam to keep the sweat-stained shirt Sam sent him on condition that it STAY IN THE BOX - else she would wash it! Adam declared that that would never happen, that he would be SO careful to keep it put away when he wasn't actually smelling it. Kate quietly despaired, but Sam and Adam were elated, and kept little things going back and forth through the USPS. They were now penpals, just like Dean had!

Dean's correspondance with his own penpal nearly doubled in both length and frequency, after Sam left. Joel may have been an alpha, but at least he was someone that understood what it was to not be a beta. He was a friend, and friends were things Dean didn't have a great supply of. John and Dean still moved every few weeks. No sooner would Dean start becoming more than mere acquaintances with someone, than he left them. The only people he kept any kind of connection with at all were his family, Bobby and Pastor Jim (sort of), and Joel.

He had been telling Joel almost everything of interest that happened to him for years. A few days after they dropped Sam off at Stanford, he wrote Joel a 7-page letter all about it, pouring out his frustration, loneliness, and fears. He told Joel what their father worried about, and asked what he thought. He got a letter that was nearly as long in return.

\--I've only ever met one other alpha, besides myself. I do not think that he was the type to just rape somebody. He seemed like a mostly decent guy, even though he did have a terrible temper. But I have a temper that I have to watch sometimes, too. I would never have raped an omega. Both you and Danielle seemed much too precious to even think of hurting. I think that is how it is supposed to be, that we alphas are supposed to protect omegas. It is sad that there are alphas that do not feel that way. But I guess I can imagine that if I were still unmated and an omega was being very open and inviting, that could be a big temptation. I did keep writing you notes even after you did not respond to them at first. Omegas are very hard to ignore, they make us want to keep trying! And I DEFINITELY would not have stopped trying to convince Danielle to be with me. I could smell that she was my mate, so I was not going to let anything stand in the way. I would not have raped her, but I definitely would have kept offering until she said yes. But she wanted to be my mate, because she could tell that I was hers, too. I did not actually have to try very hard. But I would have kept asking even if she said no. So maybe the best thing, if your brother doesn't want to be bothered, is just not to do anything that looks or sounds too much like yes. Flirting and touching feel almost like yes, so maybe he shouldn't do that until he is sure he wants that alpha. --

Joel kept Dean equally well-informed about his own life. He wrote about being promoted to assistant overseer with the construction company he worked for, about him and Danielle moving into a bigger apartment, about playing golf with Danielle's father, who no longer held a grudge about the way they had snuck around and mated so young without their parents' permission. 

\--We are so happy, Dean. Everything is wonderful. Danielle said she would like to try for another baby her next heat. I think we can afford that, now that I've been promoted. And the twins are growing so much, so fast. They keep us busy chasing them and cleaning up all their messes! I'm sure I'm the happiest man in the whole world. Danielle makes sure of it! I wish I could send some of my joy the way I send these letters. I'd love to share it with you!--

Dean was glad for his friend, but he was mostly just glad to HAVE a friend. He needed one, after his very BEST friend decided to be a shithead and leave. Ugh. Though he guessed it was forgivable, long as the dumbass stayed safe, and remembered to keep his phone charged...


	36. Stanford

A few hours later that first day, after walking away, after all the meetings and paperwork, it finally hit Sam just what he had done - that he was all on his own. He walked around in a bit of a daze for a while, not quite sure what to do with himself, or just how to feel. A part of him was excited at the prospect of a new challenge, relieved to know that he now had somewhere steady to be for a long while yet, eager to see what he could make of this new adventure. But another part of him was more than a little nervous. Sure, he'd asked for this. He'd argued for it, repeatedly made a scene over it, had been ready to run away on a bus to acheive this goal. But now that he had it? Well, he absolutely wasn't having second thoughts - not at all. But he found himself standing on a sidewalk, suddenly overwhelmed at the sheer number of people swarming around from building to building. He was acutely aware of his lack of firearm, and of the fact that if he had a problem, it would now take his dad and/or Dean a whole day or more to get to him. He wasn't regretting his decision, but the abrupt realization that he was ACTUALLY ON HIS OWN was a dunk in cold water. 

He finally went and found the dorm room assigned to him. His Form A/B/O-0123 had come attached to his high school transcripts, so they'd assured him that he had been placed in a building that housed no alphas. It was nice, quite a bit nicer than most of the motel rooms they'd stayed in over the years, with two desks and chairs, two dressers, and two beds, one atop the other. Sam dropped his stuff and stared. It was the beds that focused his attention. Even the very worst motels they'd ever stayed in at least had pillows and sheets on the bed - even if they weren't always clean. These beds, though, were just nice mattresses on nice frames. A half-second of disbelief washed over him, before he just felt stupid. Of course, he was supposed to bring all that sort of thing with him. He nodded. OK. Trip to a store it was, then! Stuffing his bags beneath one of the desks, he locked the door again and went to catch a city bus.

Sam snorted to himself as he boarded and took a seat. (The local bus line was called the SamTrans? Heh...) His dad hadn't wanted him riding a bus hundreds of miles across the country, but bedding seemed kind of almost necessary, and he didn't have any other means of transportation. He looked out the window, trying to pay close attention to the lay-out of the town - his new home - as it went by. Getting off at the first discount retail superstore they came to, Sam grabbed the absolute cheapest pillow and twin-sized sheet set they sold, and a thin blanket, the price of which had been halved because it had flaws in the weave. He felt a little silly picking out multicolored polka-dot sheets, but whatever, they were the least expensive available. He only had $88 and some-odd change to his name at that moment, and he had no way of knowing how long it would be before he could find a job. He had to sleep that night, though, so it would do. He was just about to leave, when it dawned on him that he would need other things, too. He'd brought his toothbrush and deodorant, but was used to motels providing soap and shampoo. He turned around to find those things, along with a washrag and towel, whispering something to himself about how broke he'd soon be.

Returning to his new abode, Sam watched with interest as a steady stream of incoming students continued to arrive, with friends and family helping them haul in truckloads of luggage and boxes. As he walked down the hall to his own room, he was said 'hello' to once or twice, and he paused to smile, return the greeting, and introduce himself. He used the opportunity to peer discreetly into others' open doors, amazed as many of them unpacked several times as much as all three of the Winchesters owned together, empty rooms quickly filling to the brim with young adults' miscellaneous accoutrements. 

Back in his own room again, he made up the lower bunk before unloading his own few belongings. Aside from his new bedding, everything he owned in this world fit in the drawers of one of the desks, with room to spare. Sam sat down and thought on that for a moment. He never really HAD thought on it, before. He had, of course, always been vaguely aware that he and his family were somewhat less materially prosperous than the average, but he'd never really NOTICED it. He'd never had that distance shoved in his face the way it seemed to be now, with everyone all over campus dealing with all their mounds of possessions. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, though, he decided that he really didn't care. He didn't have much, but he had what he NEEDED. His family had always made sure of that. The only thing of any real import that he'd ever had to do without was stability, but that was a large part of why he was there, wasn't it? His five changes of clothes, toiletries, envelope of important papers, wallet, phone and charger, pocketknife, 'salt', pills, and new bedlinens were sufficient. He had nothing to complain about, even if his room DID look a little barren compared to those piled ceiling-high with books, decorations, and sentimental trinkets.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sam gave up thinking about it, and decided to take a few hours wandering around campus exploring, getting a feel for the place. The compulsion to maintain routines eventually had him wandering to the outer edge of campus to throw his pocketknife at an isolated stand of trees a few times, before venturing into one of the dining halls to learn how to use his meal plan card and grab something to eat. He was ravenous, having skipped lunch in all the day's chaos. On returning to his room, he found it significantly less empty than he'd left it.

"Oh, hey! Are you the roommate? I'm Brady. Sorry, let me move that out of your way..." Sam stepped cautiously around the boxes blocking the door. "Yeah, I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you." The young man pushing cardboard crates from one side of the room to the other smiled at him. "So I guess you've already claimed the bottom bunk? I wanted the top, anyway." Sam sat on said bunk as Brady continued pulling things out of boxes, still talking. "So which dresser is yours? Or do you care? My parents just set stuff everywhere, but we assumed that desk was taken, with the backpack under it." Sam shrugged. "You can have them both. I put my stuff in the desk." Brady looked confused. "Really? You're serious?" Sam nodded. "Yeah. It's yours. With all this stuff, you need it more than I do." Brady stared at him, looking concerned. "Are you sure?" Sam shuffled his foot, starting to feel a tad uncomfortable. "Yeah. It'll be fine." He gazed around at the imposing HEAPS of Brady's stuff that filled the room. "Do you want any help?" Brady shrugged. "Only if you want to. But hey, have you figured out where the Registrar's office is? The map shows, but I'm so lost..." They chatted that way most of the rest of the day, and on into the evening. Sam decided he liked his new roommate. He seemed like an alright guy...

It wasn't until later that night, after Brady had gone to sleep in the bunk above, that it struck Sam again that he was really on his own, now. He had handled it well all day, distracted by all the newness and adventure of it. Only now, laying in his new bed in the dark, it didn't feel like an adventure anymore. It just felt lonely.

Once he was sure Brady was asleep, Sam had rolled out of bed, hit his knees, and whispered to God for a couple minutes. Crawling back under his covers, he flopped around in restless agitation, trying to get comfortable. He couldn't, though, because something was missing. Dean. Dean was missing, and trying to fall asleep without his big brother was a foreign, alien enterprise. It was a thing he never did. Dean was ALWAYS there at night. Even those nights Dean had gone off with some girl he'd met, Sam had at least had his dad until Dean came back, at which point they promptly piled together again. But now Sam was laying there all by himself, and he didn't like it.

He wanted to fall asleep, but it wasn't happening. He tried to relax, to think about something pleasant. Tried counting sheep, then watched the shadows flicker on the wall opposite the window for a while. He tried breathing exercises, meditation techniques he'd read about. He got up and went down the hall for a drink of water, then wandered into the open lounge where a couple people still sat and talked to them for a few minutes. When they started heading off to their own rooms, Sam reluctantly shuffled back to his own, where he tossed and turned for what felt like ages, feeling antsy. 

He texted Dean. No response. He texted Dean again. No response. He texted his dad. No response. Waiting a few minutes in between each attempt, he tried it over and over. Dean HAD called him right before sundown just for a moment, just like he'd said he would, but why weren't they responding now? He wanted to talk to them NOW. Of course, it was late. They were probably asleep. But Sam REALLY wished they would answer...

He rubbed at his face. Nope, he was NOT having second thoughts. Nor was he trying to decide just how hazardous to his health it would be to crawl in the top bunk with his new friend. Nope. He wasn't doing any of that. He was enjoying his freedom! This was what he wanted, and he could TOTALLY HANDLE IT. He just had to get used to it. But Sam wasn't able to fall asleep until after the return text from his father, clutching his phone to him like a lifeline.

He only slept for maybe a couple hours, before getting up at dawn to slide his shoes on and go for a run around campus. It was a little disorienting to wake up in a bed all by himself, but he jutted his chin out and forced himself to go on with his day. He had this. He just had to stick with his routines, make NEW ones. It would be okay. He'd MAKE it be okay...

He was done with his run, had taken a shower, and was on his way to breakfast when Dean called. Sam's relief on hearing his brother's and dad's voices was immense, even if his father WAS quite obviously drunk. (Dad drank, but when did he get that DRUNK?) Yeah, calling every day was a good idea!

It was a good thing that there was a little over a week before classes officially started, because it took about that long for Sam to figure out how to get any sleep at night. That first week would always be a bit of a blur, foggy from the combined anxiety and exhaustion. Had he not been Sam "Stubborn" Winchester, it wouldn't have taken long at all for him to cave and call for his family to come back and get him again. He stuck it out, though, absolutely determined to carve something out for himself, and prove that he could do it!

Getting back into school rhythms helped a lot - as did his new correspondance with Adam, and the box in the mail every month from his father. Being able to focus on classwork gave his days shape and purpose again. All the required readings gave him something to distract himself with in the evenings, something to keep his mind busy with at night until he was ready to fall asleep. He quickly established himself as a good student, even at a school FULL of good students. He was the man to see if you'd missed a class and needed to copy someone's notes. He drew several teachers' attention simply by always turning in ALL his work, and consistently being a thoughtful, intelligent contributor to class discussions. In other words, he was doing quite well!

Yes, Sam was doing well in college, and that was completely in spite of all the many riveting distractions. Like GIRLS. There had been girls in high school, too, but now he found himself surrounded by much larger numbers of them! Some days it was an absolute overload, because it seemed to him as though there were appealing females absolutely EVERYWHERE he turned around. Sam had a bit more self-restraint where girls were concerned than Dean, and so was able to keep himself from getting thrown too off-track by them, but still he could honestly say that he had NEVER gone through as many pads as he did there at university. Forget carrying an extra in his backpack - Sam started carrying SEVERAL extra! Sam might have been embarrassed about sneaking packages of "feminine hygiene products" into his room, but Brady was there for pre-med, and it hadn't taken him long to notice the thin rings in Sam's eyes and figure out what he was. He never gave Sam any flak about it, though, never actually said anything at all, for which Sam was immensely grateful. Indeed, Sam sometimes wondered if his roommate being someone studying medicine had been planned?

Girls, though. Sam may not have pursued them with the same manic zest that Dean did, but he certainly DID make time for trying to have a social life. Being tall and what at least some people considered handsome, he found no shortage of young women willing to mix and mingle with him. His obvious gratitude for their attentions endeared him to them, and made his friends roll their eyes at the fresh spring in his step when co-eds smiled and waved at him. He may have been more discreet, tactful, and moderate in his quest for female companionship than his older brother was, but that didn't mean he was being completely left out of all the fun. The box of condoms that John had given him when he'd presented? It was replaced more than once...

There was one alpha there at Stanford, but he lived off-campus with his mate, and so had little to no interest in Sam. They DID cross paths on campus occasionally, which always led to them both freezing and staring for half a second, but it never went anywhere. The alpha plainly smelled mated, and even if that had been no object, he was also quite plainly happy to BE mated. Which suited Sam just fine. After all, it's not like he really needed an alpha, not with all these GIRLS...

Most of the hassle his omeganess gave him there at school (aside from the heats he had to miss a few days for twice a year) revolved around a class that he regretted taking the very day it started. He needed a science elective, and thought that 'Human Sexuality' sounded like an easy one. After all, being an omega, he was positive he already knew much of what would be taught, as he had probably known more even as a child than many adults would ever learn. So yes, it was an easy class for him, as far as the material went. The difficult part lay in the fact that the teacher recognized what he was almost as soon as he walked in, and was overjoyed at having a rare, live example in class. For absolutely everything that was discussed about omega sexual dynamics, Sam became the resident case-in-point. 

"Dean, it's terrible. I made a mistake taking this class. I think this teacher's honestly trying their best to humiliate me to death..." He could hear Dean's sigh over the phone. "We DID tell you not to go. We knew it was a bad idea." Sam huffed. "No, just this one class! We're going through the chapter on omega fertility cycles, which covers heats. Teacher actually wanted me to DESCRIBE what they're like to the whole class." Dean sounded confused. "How the hell COULD you describe it? It's not like you even remember them, really. Your brain's just fucking gone for three days." Sam threw an arm over his eyes and whined, "Exactly! And that's pretty much what I said. So then I'm asked to just tell everybody what it's like at the start, what I CAN remember, and what I've been told I'm like during them. And everybody's staring at me in expectation. Was mortifying. Teacher's probably aren't supposed to ask stuff like that. I'm pretty sure there are laws, or school personnel regulations, or something. I mean, you can't very well ask a beta to describe THEIR sex life and medical history, so how come they get to ask me about mine?" Dean was annoyed. "So, turn 'em in! Don't answer no more nosy-ass questions. Just tell 'em to go fuck themselves. You're not in high school, so you can do that now. Ain't none of anyone's damn business!" Sam sighed. "Not even worth it. Class is halfway done now. I just wanna finish it and forget all about it." There was a pause, before Dean had to ask. "So? What did you tell 'em?" Sam rubbed a hand over his left eye. "Ugh. Mostly just that it's miserable, that everything's hot and achy and confusing, and that I never remember much, 'cause I've been feverish and sick and I can't really think clearly during them." Pause. "And then people started asking QUESTIONS, wanting DETAILS. How can I tell when they're starting. Do I have gender-identity issues because of them. Am I so out of it that I would I do just anybody during them. All kinds of things. The teacher finally stopped it after someone wanted to know if I only wanted guys during them, since that's my period of time when I can get pregnant. I guess that particular invasive question went a little too far - unlike all the OTHER invasive questions!" Dean muttered, "Damn...", before his phone was taken by John, who'd been listening. 

"Son, do WE need to handle it for you? You want to please your teachers, but that doesn't mean letting 'em run all over you. I could get them fired. That could be putting you in danger, drawing unnecessary attention to you like that!" Sam shook his head, even though no one could see it over the phone. "No, Dad, it's not THAT bad. Really. It's just kind of, kind of embarrassing, is all. I mean, I actually get it. I get why they want me to share. I might be the only omega some of them ever meet - and I probably WILL be the only male one. It's just... REALLY awkward." John muttered something along the lines of, "Hmph. We'll see...", before handing Dean his phone back...

==============================================================================

John and Dean were always there about two-and-a-half weeks before Sam's heats were due. Sam was still irregular, so John was determined to be there in PLENTY time. Sam's scholarship was contingent upon his residing in the dorms, but John wasn't about to let his boy maybe go into heat on his own in the middle of the night, so he'd gone with Sam to explain the situation to people in various offices and get him special permission to stay off-campus with them, from two weeks before the 'expected' date until two nights after it was over.  
Sam always met them in front of the same building he'd had that appointment in that first day, grinning from ear to ear. And John always had to wait a couple minutes until Dean - half beside himself with excitement - finally let go of his little brother long enough for someone else to hug him! 

It was the same every time. Dean would rush over to squeeze the living mess out of Sam, who would laugh and squeeze him back, the two of them sniffing each other like overexcited puppies. Then Dean would pause, step back, and look up, making some useless, profanity-littered remark about Sam's still-increasing height ("Fuck damn it, how the hell are you STILL growing? Taller than us not good enough, you gotta turn into a flipping Gigantor?") and shoving Sam over to their dad. Sam, recognizing Dean's hot air for the disguised affection it was, would pay it no mind, and just bury himself in John's embrace for a moment, drawing deep breaths at his father's neck, while John snapped a useless glare at Dean before shaking his head. He'd long since given up trying to get Dean to curb the swearing. He blamed it on Bobby.

Instead, he just enjoyed being able to see and feel that his boy was still safe. Herding them back to the car, he smiled at Sam scooting in close beside his brother, sniffing eagerly, even as he moaned about the music. "Dean, it's the SAME tape. Same one you played on the drive up here, same one you played for about a month before that. Same one I'm sure you've only played about a million times since. Seriously, just find something else..." "No way, Francis. This one's my favorite, and I'm in a good mood, so it fits. Plus, I'm driving, so I get to pick, and you can just shut it." Sam grinned and poked Dean in the side. "Supposed to be nice to people you haven't seen in a while, jerk. Right, Dad?" John smiled from the backseat. "Supposed to be driving back to the room and deciding what we want for supper." Sam sat up off Dean. "OOOH! There's this place just a few blocks from here that does amazing Indonesian. They do this chicken wrapped in herbs and stuff there with this lemon-peanut sauce that might actually be one of the best things ever!" Dean shook his head. "Chicken is not celebration food. We need, like, barbeque or something. And pie. And cobbler. Tater salad. And another pie. Any place around here good for that?"

What they actually wound up doing, every time, was just curling up together back in the motel room, having something delivered, and calling Adam. Their first evenings all back together again were spent with Sam and Dean piled up on top of their father, talking about all the miscellaneous details of their time apart that they hadn't covered over the phone, John just listening and letting them do all the talking. 

For however long it took until Sam's heat started, he would spend the nights with them, Dean driving him to class each morning and picking him up as soon as his last class was finished. The conversation back and forth was always essentially the same one, with Dean's eyes flitting every which way. "Whoa. Yes, ma'am... (low whistle) Sam, how the hell are you studying ANYTHING? Man, I can barely DRIVE. There's girls all OVER, this place is crawling with 'em! If you're not getting laid, like, every stinking day, then there's something seriously the hell wrong with you..." Sam, of course, would proceed to turn an interesting shade of red. "Yeah, well..." A pause, before he pointed. "Uh, see that one? Purple and blue sweater?" Dean nodded. "She's in my study group. Chemistry. Gave me her number the other day. On a fancy little card that smelled just like her hair. Had lip-prints on it, like she'd kissed it and gotten lipstick on it." Dean's eyes got big. "Dude, that's as open an invitation as you're gonna get. If you're not gonna use it, give it here! 'Cause I sure will!" Sam shifted. "I'm gonna call her! Just figured I'd wait 'til my heat was done. Don't wanna try to take her out, and start going into all that and scare her off." Dean shrugged. "Eh. Point. Just don't wait TOO long. Might change her mind!"

Sam had kept up with training routines on his own as best he was able, runs in the morning and tossing his knife a few times at trees towards evening. John insisted on gun practice while they were there, too, so they located a nearby shooting range to visit each afternoon. Sam was tempted to object, on the basis that he had tons of studying and work to do now, but neither John nor Dean would hear it, and just told him to pack his books with them if he was so worried. Sam got out of target practice PLENTY for all the months they weren't there, so it would happen while they WERE! And Sam, for all his mild groaning about it, DID feel better for getting back into a familiar routine. Not to mention that it was in that way that he and Dean found good employment.

The person that set their skeet traps up had nothing else to do afterwards, and so just sat and watched a while. The fact that all three Winchesters just kept getting ALL their shots from ALL their stations without missing a one didn't go unnoticed, and the one person watching was soon joined by another and another, until they found themselves being analyzed by a small audience of... everyone that worked there. They were just about to start up their fourth round when someone cleared their throat and stepped up to them from the side. "Excuse me, sirs. A word for just a moment?" John lowered his gun and looked over. "How can I help you?" The man smiled broadly and stuck out a hand. "Well, I'm the Range Master here, and we couldn't help noticing how good you three are. It's been a long time since we've seen anyone put on so good a show. If you're military or law enforcement, we've neglected to give you your discount." John shook his head. "They took care of it already; asked up front if I was a veteran." The Range Master, a gentleman close to John's age, looked over at Sam and Dean. "And your friends, here?" John smiled, absolutely radiating pride. "My oldest two. Been a while since I've taken them both out, today seemed like the day. Gotta keep 'em sharp..." The Range Master nodded. "Well, they're MORE than sharp, especially if this is how they perform when you say it's been a while." John introduced them. "Dean, my eldest. And Sam." Pleasantries and handshakes. Then the Range Master got serious. "None of you three are looking for a job, are you? We've been looking to hire demonstrators and instructors, and frankly NO ONE we've interviewed thus far has displayed even half the skill you three have - and I've only been watching just a few minutes. But I think I know talent when I see it, so I don't feel like I need to hesitate before offering you a job, if you want it." Sam and Dean looked at each other, as John politely declined for himself. "I'm a mechanic, been one for nearly forty years. But I believe my boys may have been looking for work..." 

Sam had been pulling two 3-hour shifts a week in the little cafe beside the university's main library, and Dean had grabbed something the day after arrival delivering pizzas during the lunch rush. They both looked at each other again, because shooting-range instructors HAD to make more than what they were then making. They stood a little straighter. "Well, I'm in school, so I couldn't work full-time, but-" Dean interrupted with, "What would it pay?" They were reassured that schedules could be made flexible, and were quoted an hourly figure that make their eyebrows go up, even as they grinned. "Yes, sir! Sign us up! We're in!"

And so it was that they fell into the best-paying jobs they'd ever had. Sam kept the job his entire stay at Stanford, making enough that paying for a taxi back and forth whenever he couldn't get a ride from someone was worthwhile, and Dean was promised that the position would be there for him whenever he came back.

They were immensely blessed that Sam's heats always hit at times when he wasn't in class. Mostly they tended to hit first thing in the morning, so it was only once that Dean had to quickly excuse them and pull Sam into the car while they were on the job, before calling their father to come meet them, since Dean couldn't hold a thrashing heat-befuzzled man still AND drive. They would take care of him for the usual three days of fever, tears, and sexual madness, and then feed and water him with everything his stomach could hold the next, before selfishly hanging onto him for just one more night before letting him move back into the dorms and driving away again. The annual trip to the lake in Maine with Adam during summer break was the only other time they saw him. For almost three years, that was the new routine. John and Dean both asked him each time if he was sure he wanted to stay there. He could fit back into their lives all over again with ease, and wouldn't it be safer? But no amount of reasoning, pleading, or even begging would change Sam's mind. He was too adamant about staying put in one spot. He finally had friends, schedules of his own devising, a life he was fashioning for himself. John and Dean forced themselves to be content with thrice-yearly visits. Dean made a terrible habit of getting sloppy drunk every time they left. Almost three years went by like that. Then Sam met Jessica!


	37. Jessica

Sam had met (and been with) more than a couple girls during his time at Stanford. Indeed, he had several female friends amongst whom he was a favorite study partner. None of those girls were anyone that he had grown close enough to, though, to consider as actual 'girlfriends' or anything. But then, somewhere not long after the beginning of their Junior year, Brady dragged Sam along to a small 'party' (really just a get-together of acquaintances at someone's apartment, with snacks and music) where he introduced him to Jessica Moore.

Sam liked her immediately. Sam liked her a LOT immediately. Not only did he just like what he saw, but she broadcasted a calm confidence and commonsense that Sam, with his somewhat skittish omega nature, found both comforting and immensely appealing. To say that Sam was smitten from the get-go would be a bit of an understatement! Even though she seemed to like him well enough, too, it still took bumping into each other three or four more times before she would so much as gift him her phone number. Unlike so many other girls Sam had encountered, Jessica actually seemed to try and attempt to carry herself like a lady, and didn't simply throw herself straight into the arms of whatever halfway-attractive fellow showed any interest in her, no matter how much interest she felt back. Taking things so slowly was new for Sam, and he found it both frustrating AND invigorating. He began to feel that she might be trustworthy, that he could actually respect her a little...

They became an 'item' soon enough. Sam found himself actually dating her, and not just running to some fast-food place to grab a bite and chit-chat before making out, like he often had with other girls. He spent the time and money to try and take her NICE places and show her an actual good time, and discovered that he liked her more each time he saw her...

Naturally, he had to share what he'd found. "Dean, I met this girl." Dean snorted. "I'd hope so. Be sad if you were there so long and DIDN'T meet some girls!" "No, I mean I met a GOOD one, one I really like. Dean, she's unreal. She's not just A girl, she's the BEST girl I've ever met!" "Yeah? What's so awesome about her? Hot?" It was Sam's turn to snort. "Hot isn't even a good enough word. She's GORGEOUS, Dean. And for a beta, she smells amazing..." That got Dean's attention. "Is it even really her? Not just all the chemicals she wears?" Sam was adamant. "No way. It's HER. Really. She smells almost as good as she looks!" "Really? I mean, 'cause so many girls just smell kinda weird once all the perfume and lotion and shampoo and stuff wears off..." Sam closed his eyes and smiled. "Nope. SHE smells good. I mean, the stuff she uses smells alright, but SHE smells good even without it." 

More than one evening phone conversation revolved around Sam's new girlfriend. "She's practically perfect, Dean. She's smart, she's funny. Everybody likes her, 'cause she's always NICE to everyone. And she bakes!" "She bakes? Bakes what?" Sam grinned. "All kinds of stuff! Cookies, brownies, muffins, you name it." "Pie? She do pie?" "I haven't seen pie yet, but I bet she could - she bakes everything else! Bakes stuff just 'cause she likes doing it, then goes around sharing it with people." Dean was almost jealous. "She bakes... So wait. You're telling me this Jessica you're crazy about is hot, smells good, AND bakes? Dude, keep that girl! Don't let her get away! 'Cause seriously, any hot girl that cooks and feeds you, you gotta hang on to!"

It wasn't until almost nine months after they first met that they finally came together the way men and women do. In his quest to please her and keep her happy, Sam hadn't pushed very hard at all for much of anything except just time together, letting her set the pace. He had been nervous thinking about it for a long while. He wanted her SO bad, but he was hesitant, afraid of freaking her out with his 'omeganess' and scaring her off. She knew that he WAS an omega, of course, but he wasn't sure if she knew what all exactly that meant. More than one girl had been grossed out by him, offended by all the fluids he leaked...

It began the way so many other pleasant evenings had. They were sprawled out on the couch in her off-campus apartment, pretending to watch some movie while they talked about nothing, when they started to let their hands and mouths roam. They had grown comfortable some time back with making out, it quickly becoming a favorite pastime of theirs. Only this time, she took it a step further. Kissing his ear, she whispered, "I have a bedroom, Sam. Let's move this there, see what happens...?"

Sam's breath caught, his heart fluttered wildly. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah..." He let her take him by the hand, lead him up the stairs. Sam was grinning nervously like an idiot, sniffing deeply of her hair the whole way up. YES. The most amazing girl ever was taking him to her room. To her BED. To "see what happens...!"

She opened the door, and the smell of JESS hit him, stronger than anywhere else in the house. Oh, yeah, he could live in that smell! She guided him over to sit down, pulled him in for the sort of kiss that promised things. Sam was pretty sure he nearly went deaf, unable to hear anything over the roar of his own pulse pounding. He didn't bother restraining his hands, wasn't sure he could, as they pulled shirts off and he began mapping out and memorizing every square micrometer of her skin that he could reach, while sucking lightly at her jaw, feeling her hands in the hair at the back of his neck...

It was when she reached for the button on his jeans that he jerked back in alarm. "OH! Um. Wait. I, we gotta talk about this..." Poor Jessica froze, surprised, unsure what she'd done wrong. "What is it?" Sam colored and looked away. "I, uh..." He wanted to melt into the floor. He'd come so far with her, felt more for her than he had for all other girls he'd ever known put together, and now that he was THIS CLOSE to doing what he'd daydreamed about doing with her almost from the moment he'd first seen her, he was gonna screw it all up. If she didn't throw him out just for being RUDE, then she was gonna be revolted at what he had to say. She wouldn't want anything to do with his disgusting omega mess, it was the end of one of the best things he'd ever had going for him...

But she drew him out of his thoughts and back to current reality with her gentle probing. "Sam, tell me what's wrong. Is it something I did? I mean, if you don't want to, Sam, that's fine. I can respect that. I just thought maybe-" "No! I mean, yeah, I DO want to. I just... I don't think you're gonna want to, not with me..." It was a mumble, by the end. She laughed. "Sam, I'm the one that started it, the one that brought you up here. I'm pretty sure I want to." Sam wasn't quite sure what color he was turning, but it had to be a bright one. "Yeah, and thank you. But Jess... I mean, you know I'm an omega, right?" She nodded. "Yes...?" Sam couldn't even look at her. "I just... you know what's gonna happen, right? If we... because I'm an omega." She began to look concerned. "What? What's going to happen?" Whatever shade Sam had turned deepened. He stared at the floor, forced a whisper out. "I leak..." Bewilderment crossed her face. "You leak...? What are you talking about?" Sam's voice cracked. This was beyond embarassing... "I leak. I'm already leaking. Or I was. Every time we're close and touch. Slick. Fluids. Like, like you girls do. Except a LOT of it. WAY more." He bit his lip, rubbed his eyes with his palms, and almost got MAD. "I can't help it. It's just what omegas do. We get aroused, we leak. I wear PADS just so I won't look like I've wet myself every time you get near me. Because you... Jess, YOU arouse me. I go through TONS of pads hanging out with you. If we... if we went further, if we got undressed? If we actually..." He paused for half a second to breathe. "I'm gonna make a huge freaking mess, everywhere. You'll probably have to wash your sheets." He closed his eyes again. "I'm sorry..."

She didn't say anything, just took his hand and squeezed it. Sam took a deep breath, then looked at her. She smiled and tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ear, with a thoughtful look on her face. "Well... I dated a guy once that threw up on my shoes. On my SANDALS, while I was wearing them. It can't really be any worse than that, right?" Sam froze, and dared to hope... "And besides. You're a sweet guy, Sam - best boyfriend I've ever had. DEFINITELY better than what some of my friends bring home. So maybe you're worth washing my sheets for." Sam grinned and pushed her back gently, laying on her and kissing her deeply. "I'll pay for the laundromat, start buying all your laundry detergent. Whatever I need to do to make it up to you." She smirked. "Then how about you start by just getting undressed, already?"

 

=======================================================================  
Yeah. It was every bit as good as he'd imagined it would be.  
=======================================================================

 

Sam was absolutely floating on the clouds. An incredibly, extraordinarily, ridiculously elated guy was Samuel Winchester! And he'd been strung out on joy for WEEKS! Seriously. Did life get much better? Sam cared too much about Jessica to kiss and tell, but he really didn't have to. Everyone could just tell. He pretty much all BUT walked around with a blazing neon "MY GIRLFRIEND MAKES ME SO HAPPY" sign on his forehead, his perpetual goofy grin and the pep in his step making his euphoric satisfaction with life more than apparent. When Sam came back to the dorms one afternoon unaware of the grass stuck in his hair, Brady lost it nearly as hard as Dean would have. But Sam didn't care. He couldn't muster up enough give-hoot to do anything but pluck it out and grin at it. "Yeah... When you're out rolling in the clover, sometimes you bring back souvenirs. Find YOU a girlfriend, Brady. Maybe you'll come back with a dandelion." He wound up keeping the little leaf bits in his desk for over a week, until they shriveled up.

He DID tell his family, though. How could he not? The Winchesters barely even knew what privacy WAS. Sam and Dean had bathed together until they were six and ten. Sam couldn't have something amazing happening in his life and not let them know! He even wrote Adam about his girl - Adam, who was by now himself a teenager and interested in girls.

Eventually it set Sam to thinking awfully hard about something. He'd never had an actual girlfriend for any length of time before, never known a girl long enough to actually think about it. But they were definitely a "thing" now, a couple, and had been such for almost a year, long enough that they had gotten close, and come to know each other fairly well. They spent practically all their time together (outside of class, work, and the month he spent in Maine each summer) and they already had a more-than-active sex life. So why shouldn't Sam ask her to help him through his heat?

He didn't know, though. Heats were different. He wouldn't be in his right mind, wouldn't be just her adoring, grateful lover. He'd be sick, a half-addled, frantically needy mess that probably wouldn't even be coherent for most of it. He wouldn't be able to keep focused enough to actually make love to her, unable to make it good for her, too. What if she didn't want that, didn't want to just let him plow into her like an animal for three days? He couldn't blame her if she didn't. But he had grown used to getting his satisfaction from her. The idea of spending three miserable days away from her was enough to make him feel sick. Surely spending a heat WITH someone would be better, just a little less awful?  
John was always the one that coordinated the trips out to tend to him during heats, so Sam asked his dad what he thought. John, of course, had been thrilled to hear about Sam and his gal. A good woman - maybe that was exactly what Sam needed, something sweet and sensible to keep him on the straight and narrow. John hadn't yet heard anything to make him mistrust the girl...

Only now Sam was thinking aloud of sharing his heat with her, and all John's protective instincts were flaring up. Heats were DANGEROUS. Heats were when his son was most vulnerable. This beta girl might be stronger than an omega, but what could she do if an alpha came sniffing around? After a long talk all about it, he finally just said that Sam would FIRST have to see if the girl would even be WILLING to bother with it. "After all, Sam, we're not talking just a fun night or two. It's three days and nights straight of you raring to go near constantly, on auto-pilot, far as sex goes. Might be a bit much to handle. And it's not even just about sex. Dean and I can't be running in and out of the room while you're with her, so she'd have to be prepared to take care of you in other ways, too. She'd have to help make sure you drank regularly. You could dehydrate and wind up in the hospital if somebody doesn't. She'd have to almost mother you. You need to find out if that's something she'd even be willing to do..."

So it was with great trepidation and uncertainty that Sam brought it up to her one Saturday night, as they sat at an isolated corner table in a restaurant that actually used tablecloths and real silverware. Sam was so nervous he couldn't sit still. Jess had noticed his jitters all evening, had observed his fingers shake a little as he'd handed her a mixed bouquet of multiple colors of daisies and roses when he'd first arrived at her door. "Wearing a tie and bringing me flowers? You old-fashioned gentleman, you!", she'd teased. Sam just blushed (he'd spent a whopping $1.25 on that tie at a thrift store, just for this occasion) and held her hand the whole bus ride out to the restaurant. (He was really gonna have to get a car, at some point...)

But now they'd mostly finished supper, and were just waiting on the dessert to arrive. He cleared his throat. "Um, Jess? I had a question." She put her glass down and waited. Sam squirmed. "I just.... I was wondering..." More squirming. Dang it. Just spit it out, Winchester! "I wondered if you'd spend my next heat with me?"

There. He'd said it, he'd asked. There was nothing to left to do but feel stupid and accept her saying no. It was fine. She was a great girl, they were having a great evening. What they had was enough. It'd be good to spend time with just Dad and Dean, anyway...

"When is it?" Sam's eyes flew open. He hadn't realized he'd closed them. "Um, I'm not exactly sure? You know I told you I'm kind of irregular. But it should probably be sometime here in just a few weeks. Four or five, maybe? But then, it might not be for longer. I can't really say. I'll know when it hits." Yeah, 'cause THAT would make her want to, not even knowing when! But Jessica just toyed with her straw a moment. "I thought you spent them with your dad and brother? So they could take care of you?" The two of them hadn't been quite as much of a confirmed 'thing' his last heat. They'd been on a few casual dates, had gotten into the habit of walking with each other across campus, of eating lunch in the main dining hall together. But they hadn't gone "THERE" with each other yet, and the intensity of a heat was absolutely no way to start!

So Sam explained, pausing for only a moment when the waitress brought their dessert over. About what heats were really like. About why he needed someone there with him during them. About what his family did for him during them. About the sexual NEED that made them such miserable experiences. About how having a partner, even if it wasn't an alpha, SHOULD help ease that misery some. And about how he was by now so stupidly in love with her, that he couldn't even imagine ever wanting to share them with anyone else. He was sure that she would be all he'd be able to think about when his body starting crying out for that sort of attention - assuming he even COULD think at that point...  
"Jess, I know it's a lot to think about, it's a big thing I'm asking. But I wouldn't ask just anyone. I haven't really wanted anyone but you since... since the day Brady pointed you out. I know it's weird, it's not a typical thing couples in college deal with. And I won't even exactly be myself. I won't be a good boyfriend to you for those days, I'll just be a... a sex maniac with a fever, that could get dehydrated if I'm not made to drink something every hour or so. But maybe you'll THINK about it? Because it wouldn't be ALL on you. My dad and brother will be in town, so they could help. They would relieve you if you wanted a break, so you wouldn't have to actually stay with me the whole three days straight. But I hope, Jess, I really HOPE that you'll consider it?" Sam felt stupid. He could hear himself blabbering a mile a minute. He hadn't meant to beg, hadn't meant to do anything but just casually suggest it, see what she thought. But OH, he hoped...!

A long moment went by, before she answered. "I can't miss three days of class. It wouldn't be excused, for me." Sam swallowed. Jess smiled. "But I can be there after classes let out?" Sam grinned. "You. You're the absolute best girlfriend any guy ever had!" Yep. He KNEW he loved her for a reason!

Sam let his family know what she'd said, and Dean couldn't pretend he wasn't shocked. "DUDE. This girl's gonna spend your heat with you?" "Well, not the whole thing. She's still gotta go to class." Dean huffed in disbelief. "But she's even gonna spend PART of it with you? Dude, how the hell'd you get a real, live woman to agree to that? How's that even FAIR? You lucky bastard..." (That was Dean NOT being jealous. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Fucking lucky-ass Sam!)

Sam grinned, listening to his dad whap Dean and tell him off. "OW! What?" "Call my second son a bastard again, Dean. Been a long time since I last showed you what's what, so you go right ahead." "Oh. Sorry. But wait, can I call your THIRD son a bastard? Since he kind of IS illegitimate? OWW!!! Sam, man, see what happens? You leave, and now I'M the one gets all the abuse!" Sam could hear their father snort in the background. "No one's being abused. Give me the phone!" Dean sighed deeply. "Sam, if you never hear from me again after Dad's done murdering me, just tell Adam that I loved him, even if he IS a bastard. OWW! Ow! OK, Dad, I quit, sheesh! Fuck, Sam, here's Dad. Ow!" Sam was laughing so hard it hurt, but John was completely serious in what he had to say. "Sam. I'm glad for you, but I'm going to need to talk to this girl when we get down there. We'll be there in a week and a half, you'll meet us where you always do?" Sam's brow furrowed. "Yes, sir. But wait. Talk to her about what?" "About YOU, son. You, your heat, how we're going to handle this." Sam cleared his throat. "Um, WE'RE gonna handle it, Dad." John's voice said he wasn't playing, anymore. "We'll see, Sam. It's all good and well, wanting to get your girlfriend to take care of you. But she's never even SEEN a heat, has she? She has no clue what she's getting into. Just because you describe it to her and she says OK, that doesn't ACTUALLY mean it'll be okay. I can't stalk outside the door if you two are busy knowing each other biblically, but neither am I just going to take off and leave you alone with a young, weaponless beta when you're wide open and defenseless. You're twenty-one years old, so you can make your own decisions, but once you're in heat, you lose that ability to think for yourself. I need to be SURE we have solid plans in place to keep you safe. Be irresponsible NOT to, Sam." Sam sighed. "Yes, sir... Maybe we can meet her somewhere for supper, a night or two after you get here? Talk with her about it then?" John grunted. "Good. Like to meet this girl that's got you wrapped around her finger, anyway..."

John and Dean showed up well in advance of Sam's heat, just like they always did. Two days later, they drove Sam back to campus after afternoon target practice. A couple hours later, Sam texted them an address in nearby Palo Alto to meet them at, Jessica's apartment. She had insisted on meeting Sam's family for the first time at her place instead of a restaurant, enjoining them to let her fix supper, so they could talk in private. John liked this girl, already! 

She and Sam met them at the door, Sam looking nervous but happy, Jessica glowing with her typical quiet confidence. John had run he and Dean back to their motel room to wash up and put on nicer shirts, not wanting to give Sam's girl a bad first impression of them. Dean, though, couldn't miss a chance to stir the pot when he was introduced, though it was Jess that spoke first. "So you're Dean, the brother I've heard so much about?" Dean grinned. "Mmm. Yeah. And you're Jessica. He told us you were something, but I gotta say, Sam, I can see now that you're playing WAY out of your league..." Jessica raised an eyebrow at that, smiling and sighing lightly and turning to John. Sam stared at his brother with a cool, stony expression that plainly said, DON'T YOU EVEN...

After shooting his eldest a warning look, John offered Jessica an unusually warm smile. "Miss Moore. It's a real pleasure to meet the lady my son thinks so much of." The pleasant starter conversation continued as she led them to the table that was already set. Once they were done eating, (and YES, she was a good cook. Dean heartily approved of this girl!) and after dessert, (PIE! When she'd asked Sam what she should fix, Sam'd had no opinion, other than to casually mention his brother's fondness for pies) John was the one to bring the discussion around to the point of their visit. He tried his best not to embarrass either them, but he certainly DID want to be certain that she knew what to expect, and to emphasize the importance of keeping Sam hydrated. "Whatever you and Sam have, well, that's between the two of you. But keeping my sons safe has been my top priority for longer than you've been alive. Sam's putting a lot of trust in you, but I'd like to be reassured that I can trust you, too." She looked only a LITTLE awkward at that, but reassured him that she wanted to try to be what Sam needed her to. "He's done so much for ME, that this seems like a small thing to repay him with." Yes, John liked this girl Sam had found...

When his actual heat hit, it was literally ON the way to class. Dean called their dad, then turned around and drove him right back to the room, where he stayed on alert until John got back, and texted Jess. She showed up as soon as she possibly could after her last class of the day. Sam couldn't really be moved easily once it had started, so John and Dean got another room right beside the first, and left them to it.

To say that Jessica was unprepared for what she would encounter was putting it extraordinarily mildly. She was actually a little freaked out. Walking in to find Sam like THAT was highly unnerving for her, to find her sweet, quiet boyfriend moaning and crying, rolling around on a bed that was already half drenched in sweat and slick. And the SMELL. She didn't have the same highly developed sense of smell that he did, but the thick cloud of heat-scent was still so overwhelming it nearly knocked her over. For the first minute or two, all she could really do was just stand there and try to get her bearings. She watched him, and it was obvious he was hurting. It was compassion for him that moved her forward.

"Sam. Sam, it'll be OK, here..." She sat beside him and was immediately latched onto, Sam rubbing his face up and down her side, gasping, "Jess...!" He flailed, trying desperately to do SOMETHING, and wound up just hugging her arm and humping the bed beside her. Jessica was appalled. Was he really so out of it that he couldn't even get himself together for sex? She sighed deeply, and pushed him back. "Here, just give me a moment. Let me get undressed, Sam." He just whimpered and trembled and curled in on himself, keening his misery until she maneuvered the both of them and got things started... 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Sam's heat was over, Jessica was pretty sure SHE needed a recovery day, too. How could a man be SO needy, so helpless? She wasn't holding it against him, but she was BEYOND glad when it was over. There was only just so much she could take!

She showed up again after classes the fourth day to find him clear-headed again, showered and sitting at the table eating everything his father and brother handed him with gusto, the distinct heat-smell in the room slowly dissipating. He smiled shyly. "Hey, Jess..." She smiled, too. "Feeling better?" He nodded, while John beamed. "I'd say he is. Never seen him recover so quickly, so well. He'd usually still be laid in bed, almost too weak to even roll over. Best I've EVER seen him after a heat. Seems you've worked a small miracle, Miss Moore." She coughed lightly behind her fist. "Well. As long as he's OK..." John was still smiling as he stood up and pulled Dean to his feet. "We'll be next door, if you need us."

Jess sat down beside Sam, watched him finish devouring another sandwich before he cleared his throat and spoke. "I owe you the biggest 'thank you' in the world. I hope it wasn't too awful for you." She sighed with a smile. "Well, it was... different, but I wouldn't quite say awful." She peered closely at him. "I was so worried about you. You described it to me, but to SEE you like that? Sam, I don't even know if I really did you any good. You never once stopped twitching like you were in pain." Sam looked down for a moment, then grabbed her hand. "I can't remember all of it, the details of what happened, but I can definitely remember the way it FELT. And yeah, it hurt, but nowhere near as bad as a heat usually does. There's nothing that can cure the pain COMPLETELY except an alpha, but Jess, you still made things so much better. Every time you walked back in the room and touched me after being gone, it was just a flood of RELIEF. I want you to know how much I appreciate that." Jessica bit her lip. "If that was better, then I don't even want to know what it would normally be like." She toyed with his thumb. "Twice a year, right?" Sam nodded. She smirked. "Oh, Sam. You're gonna owe me SO much..."

So Sam had a partner for his heats, after that. John and Dean still came into town, to watch after Sam during the few hours Jess had to go to class, but she shouldered most of the burden of caring for him. John was glad. Dean was jealous. Sam was grateful.


	38. Crash and Burn

Sam graduated from college, with his Honors B.A. in Political Science, the Justice and Law track (the closest thing to pre-law offered there). He'd made up his mind to pursue law school after all, having decided that it was as interesting as anything else to study. Dean had laughed, when Sam announced what he'd finally chosen as his major. "A lawyer? Actually, I can totally see it - you wearing a fucking SUIT to work, briefcase and everything. Real courtroom-drama hero, shuffling paperwork behind a desk like a true pansy-ass...!" John thwacked him one for that, while Sam crossed his arms and scowled. "Yeah, but I bet you'll be glad, when you don't have to pay for an attorney after you get busted for something stupid. Dad could probably talk my 'pansy-ass' into doing pro bono work for you. Dumb jerk..." Dean kept laughing. "Oh, shit. Come on, bro, it's OK. You're just my favorite person to mess with, is all. Really, you do that, you go be the baddest-ass lawyer this world's ever seen. I'm behind you 100%. Laughing at your fucking SUIT..." Sam rolled his eyes. "Uh, huh. Still a jerk, though..." It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Gimme a break, I'm a jerk that LOVES you. Take a bullet for your ass in a heartbeat. Gotta give you shit, though." He snickered. "Lawyer-boy."

Having graduated, Sam would no longer reside in the dorms. This had given him some light, temporary distress, until Jessica offered to let him move in with her. "Don't worry, Sam. You're at my place all the time, anyway. It'll be just like always, except you won't have to leave and go back anymore. Just bring your stuff over, and we'll squeeze it in with mine!" So he did, except it really wasn't much of a squeeze. At the end of four years, Sam hardly owned much more than he'd brought with him at the beginning. There were a few more items of clothing, (like new pants, since he'd gotten a couple inches taller over the years, plus that tie) but his everything still all fit in a duffle bag and a backpack. Jessica frowned at that. "This is it? This is all you have? Sam, you can bring your stuff, I hope you didn't get rid of it! You'll need things!" But that was it. Sam didn't want to let her think of his life as sad or empty, though. Because it wasn't! He may have been short on stuff, but he had an abundance of memories, experiences, and ideas - not to mention a family that he knew loved him. So just to prove his point he pulled three photographs out of his 'envelope of important papers'. One was an older one of his mom and dad, and one Kate had taken Adam's last birthday before Sam left for college, of Adam and all three Winchesters around the Milligans' table. Another Sam had taken himself, of John, Dean, and Bobby huddled together, peering under some jalopy's hood. There. See? Sam Winchester had everything he needed - PLUS a few purely sentimental things! Jessica smiled and looked at them closely before she dug out some empty photo frames to put them in, and set them on the dresser. "Because you need to feel like you live here, too."

It didn't take them too long to get settled into their new arrangement. It took Sam a while to get used to living in what seemed to him like extravagant comfort after a lifetime of nights spent in cheap motels, and surrounded by so much GIRL stuff. He had been raised by men, and almost all the hunters his dad associated with were men (with the exception of Ellen and her daughter Jo), so Sam hadn't actually spent much time around females outside of school. He'd never before realized just how different a household could be with a woman in it, things he hadn't really noticed much when he was just VISITING Jessica. Things like the many little decorative touches everywhere, and ALL THE STUFF IN THE BATHROOM. 'Cause really, he wasn't at all sure what half of it even was! In addition to the basics like soap and toothbrushes, there were only about forty differently-shaped-and-sized bottles of stuff that he vaguely understood to be various types of makeup, hair product, skin stuff, and Lord only knew what else. Living with a woman was a fresh adventure in cultural anthropology each day, and Sam never grew tired of marveling at it all. He still had his good-paying job at the shooting range, and was more than happy to take over half the rent and almost all of the groceries - since he was the one eating most of them. He chipped in for the electricity, too, and assigned himself permanent dishwashing and garbage duty. He could never have begun to express the extent of his gratitude to her, and took every possible opportunity to find ways to try and SHOW her how much she meant to him, to the point where friends of theirs nearly gagged at his open, opulent affection...

In fact, Sam quickly began to feel more than just affection. He rapidly began to feel something much stronger, something he wanted to solidify, to make permanent and official. He found himself more than once in jewelers' shops, looking at wedding rings. He didn't say anything to anyone, not quite sure it was time for that just yet, but he DID grab Dean's hand one evening during their annual month-by-the-lake-in-Maine. Dean reflexively tried to jerk his hand back, but was unsuccessful. "What?" "Hold on, I'm just looking." "Why? What is it?" "Just looking at your ring..." Sam stared at it long enough to make Dean nervous. "Yeah? What about it?" Sam frowned. "So this was Mom's?" "Yeah..." Sam frowned harder. "Not THIS one." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, THAT one. Not like I could've gotten it mixed up with any of my OTHER rings - it's the only one I've got!" Sam shook his head, still looking and frowning. "Can't be. It's too big, too wide. This is a man's ring." Dean's face was a comical cross between confused and offended. "Get the fuck outta here. Of course that's Mom's ring! Dad fuckin' said so when he gave it to me!" Sam decided to consult the expert, and pulled Dean over to where John sat with Adam by the water. "Dad! This isn't Mom's ring, is it?" With whatever he and Adam had been doing abruptly interrupted, it was obviously taking John more than a moment to figure out what Sam was even talking about, so Sam thrust Dean's hand in front of their dad's face. "Dean's ring. It wasn't really Mom's?" John nodded, unsure what this had to do with anything. "That was your mother's." Sam frowned again. "But Dad, it can't be. It's a MAN'S ring!" John just stretched his leg out and popped his knee. "Yes. Yes it is." Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Sam fumbled about for an explanation. "So... Mom lost her ring, and this was the replacement?" John shook his head. "No. That was your mother's original wedding ring, the very one I put on her finger when we said 'I do'." Dean stared in befuddlement. "But it's a man's ring?" John looked back down at the knot he'd been tying. "Yep." Another flummoxed look was shared between the two older brothers. "Umm... why?" John shrugged. "Never been a rich man. Men's rings are cheaper, AND the place was having a sale on 'em that week." Dean snorted. "You're shitting me. And Mom was fine with that?" John smiled. "She loved it." Dean smirked. "You mean she loved YOU. Damn, Dad. I can't decide if that's awful, or awesome!" Adam dared to let a few awkward, stifled giggles escape, while Sam just shook his head. Well, if he went that route, he would definitely at least get Jessica a WOMAN'S ring!

But that would be in the future. He was just happy to have her at all, for the time being. He was just HAPPY, and John couldn't help but be aware of it. He would always worry about his sons, but he had to admit that Sam had done well for himself the last four years. Turns out that staying put in one place for a stretch and being stable really was good for Sam. He had begun to establish himself, and was obviously thriving in a way that he hadn't been for a long time. He'd even found himself a decent lady-friend that was willing to deal with all of his special issues - and all without falling into disaster the way John had feared he would. For all John's tormented unease about letting him go, Sam had been fine. Not that John was ready to relax COMPLETELY. Sam had been commanded to go out and purchase himself a firearm of some sort THE VERY DAY HE MOVED OUT OF THE DORMS, something John and Dean even sent him some extra cash to do. It would be a while before they would see him again to give him one they already had, and guns couldn't be shipped through the mail, so John reiterated it time and time again for weeks in advance, that when Sam left the dorms, he was to GO AND GET A GUN. He wound up not needing to spend anything, though, because as soon as his co-workers learned that he was looking for one, they GAVE him two of them! "How has our best instructor and demonstrator not had his own gun all this time? That looks bad on US, so please, take these! We want you to have SEVERAL!"

Months went by, and then the kid (Well, the man. Might as well go ahead and acknowledge that Sam was his own man, now...) was talking law school. A real, white-collar career. He'd had to take some sort of test in order to start the process of getting in, an LSAT, and from what little John understood about it, a 174 was considered a remarkably good score - better, in fact, than about 99% of everyone else that took it. John was proud of him, but not surprised. He knew exactly how bright all three of his sons were. Now if only he could get them to BEHAVE as though they had the sense God gave geese!

Soon enough, it came time to expect another of Sam's heats. Sam hated the timing of it, hoping against hope that it wouldn't start until AFTER his law school interview. Not because that would affect his chances of getting in, because the entire faculty in ALL departments there at Stanford was already aware of Samuel Winchester's designation, and a medical crisis was a valid reason to miss an interview, anyway. It could be rescheduled, but Sam was eager to just do it and be done with it. Not to mention that going into heat during an interview would just be unbelievably embarrassing...

So John and Dean rolled into town again, but this time Sam didn't stay at a motel with them. He now had a HOME, an actual apartment that he lived in; there was no dorm to take him out of. Dean would be working with him at the shooting range during the day and would hang out with him for the couple hours before and/or after that Jessica was busy, until she got off to stay with him at night. When Sam went into heat, the plan would be for Jessica to let John and Dean in so they could take care of him while she was at work. Sam was more than pleased with the arrangement. STAYING somewhere familiar and comfortable, and having both his family and his girlfriend with him every day? The only thing that could have possibly made it better would've been if Adam had been there, too!

The wait for his heat to start wasn't quite as nerve-wracking as it usually was. Sam actually felt SAFE, secure. He and Jessica had John and Dean over for supper more than a few times, (though not quite every night) and it didn't take her long to learn to just smile and walk away whenever she found them wrestling and rolling around in the kitchen floor, laughing as they tussled over random objects. She just figured it had to be some sort of guy thing, a brother thing...

One evening after Dean left to head back to his and John's motel room, Jessica decided that she might as well bake cookies. Cookies never lasted long around Sam, anyway, but with all three Winchesters in town, she couldn't KEEP in cookies. Sam hovered behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and his chin on her shoulder as she did her mixing, stirring, and pouring thing. He handed her items she asked for, then went straight back to nuzzling her neck. Sam could feel the tiniest hint of warmth trying to curdle in his gut, but it was nothing big, nothing worth paying attention to when all was so right in his world. He inhaled deeply of the hair behind her ear. "I love you..." She laughed. "Oh, you do? I never would have guessed!" Sam nodded contentedly. "I do." He sighed. "What would I ever do without you?" She laughed again. "Crash and burn?" Shooing him back, she set the three trays in the oven, then turned around and grinned at his obvious, hopeful lust. "Maybe you'll watch these while I go take a shower? Then maybe we can practice for your heat coming up..." He nodded in a fervent daze, gripping the edge of the sink as he watched her walk off.

He glanced at the timer she'd set. Eighteen minutes. That wasn't too bad. He could wait eighteen minutes, give her time to finish up in the shower, to get fresh just for him. Mmm. Not that she needed to. She smelled AMAZING just like she was, like her own natural oils and chocolate-chip cookie dough... The hot fermentation in his lower abdomen got stronger for a second, but he pushed it away and leaned on the counter, staring at the trays of tan and brown blobs that would soon enough be cookies. Yeah, he could wait...  
But then, maybe he couldn't. Not even ten minutes had gone by, and he was sure he was going to collapse. Why on Earth was it so hot in this kitchen?! (Baking. Duh...) He sighed and shifted to rest his other hip against the counter, pulling off his shirt and socks. He leaned over the sink to wash his hands, and his breath caught when doing so made the heat in his gut shoot out in every direction, down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He grabbed the faucet to steady himself. TOO HOT in here, Jess really needed to get down with that shower already, somebody else needed to watch these cookies! He took a deep breath and tried to shift himself again, when his guts twisted viciously enough to send him sprawling.

It happened so fast, too fast for him to really even realize it was happening. His knees buckled, his hand swiped and scrabbled at the oven's buttons and knobs as he sunk to the floor, a belt-loop on his jeans catching on the oven door's handle, jerking it open as he slipped and sprawled across the tiles. From where he lay shaking and squirming, he didn't see the roll of paper towels that he'd knocked over roll down the counter and into the oven that was now so much hotter than Jess had set it. Curled up on his side whimpering with one arm wrapped around his middle, he never saw the flames curling their way up the wall....

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Sam woke up dizzy, naked, and disorientated, his dad and big brother hovering anxiously over him, Dean wiping his face and neck with a wet washcloth. "Sam! Sam, man. You with us, again?" Sam frowned, trying to get his bearings so he could figure out what was going on. "W-what? Where... motel room?" John nodded, while Dean just looked away. Something like panic hit him. "Why? Where's Jess?" John and Dean looked at each other a second, but said nothing. "What's going on? Why am I here? I was, I was gonna do this at home, this time! Why am I here? WHERE'S JESS?" John cleared his throat. "We'll talk to you, answer questions, but you've got to stay calm, Sam. You just came out of it, you don't need to get excited. You haven't even eaten yet, not for over seventeen hours." Sam shook his head. "Dad, Dean. What's going on? Is Jess at work? What time is it?" Dean wasn't looking at him. "Actually, uh. She's uh, she's in the hospital..." "WHAT?" Sam tried to sit up, flailed, and almost fell off the bed, before his dad pushed him back down on the pillow. "WHY? What happened? Dad, what did I miss? I went into heat and she got hurt, that's not even fair! Dad, Dean, I gotta go see her. What happened?" Sam couldn't make heads or tails of anything...

So they told him. About how Dean had turned around to go back to Sam and Jessica's just a few minutes after leaving, because he'd left something on the coffee table. About how he'd arrived to see flames shooting out the windows, with neighbors gathered around the fire truck that had just pulled up. About how Dean had pushed his way inside before the firefighters had even finished getting out of the truck to do anything, and had found heat-addled Sam curled on the kitchen floor and dragged him out the door to roll him on the grass and put out the flames on his pant legs. About the paramedics that converged on them instantly to see if they were OK, and how Jessica was brought out a minute later, burnt and bleeding, unconscious. About Dean yelling at the paramedics, insisting that he WOULD ride in the ambulance with his brother, and calling John, who met them at the emergency room. About how the ER staff had determined that aside from being in heat, a very mild burn on his left calf, and a few bruises, Sam was fine and could be taken "home". About the fire investigators Dean'd had to speak to, and Jessica's parents that JOHN'd had to speak to...

"Apparently you somehow opened the oven and got paper in there, and it just spread FAST..." Sam swallowed, looking penitent and pitiful. "And Jess?", he whispered. "Is she- I mean, she's OK? When can I go see her?" John and Dean exchanged pained looks. John put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I met her parents at the hospital. She's... she'll get better. She's pretty badly burnt, everywhere, and somehow she sliced her stomach open, trying to get out. But the doctors think that she should heal with less scarring than they first feared she would, given enough time. It's actually the smoke inhalation that did the most damage, but she's got the best care her parents can afford 24/7. She should be mostly fine pretty soon." Sam shook his head, tears threatening to fall. "I... I can't believe I did that. Dad, I hurt her, I could have killed her...!"

And THAT was where John's careful, considerate gentleness died. "NO. No, you didn't." He frowned and shook his head. "No. Not your fault, Sam. You were sick, in heat. You were too far out of your mind for ANYTHING to have been your fault." Sam's throat wanted to close up, he sounded as though he we choking. "I should've known. I was getting hot, I felt something, but I didn't think about it. I was supposed to be watching cookies, she was gonna be right out-" "NO, Sam." John's voice rang out with an authority that wasn't to be denied. "You went into heat. Nothing you did or didn't do can be held against you. If it were your fault, her parents would probably press charges, but there's nothing you can be charged with. You were having an obvious medical problem." Sam shook his head again, and burst into sobs. It was terrible, he hadn't CRIED that way since before he first came to Stanford, but there was no stopping it, now. Dean instinctively scooted closer to curl into Sam's side, while John just sighed and tugged his second son's head into his lap, running his fingers through Sam's hair. He wished he knew what to say...

It took a while, but eventually Sam calmed down enough for them to get some food and water down him. They walked him, still shaky, to the shower. He dried off and got dressed, and slid back into the other bed, the one not crusty with two days' worth of filth. He was handed more food and water while John and Dean took turns showering, too, before they got in on either side of him. He tucked his face into Dean's ribs. "Thanks for pulling me out of there..." Dean's arm tightened around him. "Yeah, well. You couldn't keep being a pain in our ass if I just let you fry to a crisp. Broiled Sasquatch doesn't sound particularly appetizing." Sam huffed in quiet exasperation. "Won't even let me say 'thank you' for saving my life. You ARE a jerk..." Dean grinned. "A jerk you OWE YOUR LIFE TO. Guess that makes you mine, now, bitch!" Sam and John both sighed and rolled their eyes. "Yes. All hail the mighty Dean, hero extraordinaire." Sam shuffled closer. "But really. Thank you."

The next day, things proceeded at a snail's pace. Their morning run was little more than a brisk walk, showers were 30-minute affairs with 15-minute breaks between each to let the water heater reboot, and breakfast easily took them over an hour and a half. Because as much as Sam wanted to go see Jessica, he was also dreading it. He missed her something ferocious, and he wanted to reassure himself that she was OK, but he was loathe to go present himself as the sorry asshole that did this to her. He didn't want to this to be the first time he met her parents, either. They were going to hate him...

But with breakfast finally finished, Sam couldn't bear to put it off any longer, and insisted they drive him up to the hospital. He resisted the urge to hide behind his dad, or hold Dean's hand. He wasn't a little kid, he wasn't in trouble, and he DID want to go check on his girlfriend. He had this. Maybe. Sort of...

When they turned the corner down the hall her room was on, Sam was NOT contemplating running. He WANTED to see her. He really did. A stop at the nurses' station to check in got him a couple interested looks that couldn't decide whether they were pitying, or accusatory. They obviously had heard the story, and had mixed feelings. Sam shoved down the urge to protest, and just followed his dad to her door. 

John knocked, and it was opened by a man perhaps just a few years younger than John. Her dad. "Mr. Winchester. Good morning..." They shook hands. "Mr. Moore. How is she?" Something in Mr. Moore's face twitched. "Awake. A little pain, but they're keeping her medicated, so it's not as bad as it could be. But thank you for asking." He looked as though he was about to close the door, when John took a half-step forward. "Samuel's up today, too. He'd like to see her." Mr. Moore's voice and eyes took on an icy edge. "Perhaps you'll tell him to try coming by some other day. I don't know if she's ready for that. Her mother certainly isn't." John somehow suddenly looked larger, more intimidating. It probably had something to do with the set of his neck and shoulders. "My son woke up last night in a panic, asking about her, very concerned. I explained as best I could, but he needs to SEE her. So maybe you'll ask Jessica how SHE feels about it. Since she's awake." Mr. Moore stared for a long few seconds, before turning to shut the door behind him. "Wait just a moment, then."

Sam jerked his eyes up off the floor, and shot worried looks at his dad and Dean. Dean shrugged and scooted closer to brush shoulders with him, as his dad put a hand on the back of his neck, gently rubbing at that spot that seemed to be a direct line to all his emotions. Sam relaxed a little. "Both of you are over twenty-one. If SHE wants to see you, you'll see her." Sam nodded and leaned into the brother beside him. She would want to see him. Wouldn't she?

The hand on his neck disappeared when the door started opening again. Sam stood up straight. Mr. Moore's face was tense. "We think she needs to rest some more, but she said she'll talk to him, so tell him to come down whenever he's ready." John relaxed a fraction. "He's already here." He reached behind him to pull Sam forward. "Mr. Moore, this is my son, Samuel. Sam, this is Mr. Moore, Jessica's father." Sam had NO idea how he managed to swallow his fear and keep functioning well enough to put his hand forward without it trembling. "Mr. Moore. Hello. I... I'm so sorry. I wish I could have met you some other way." Mr. Moore looked up and eyed him a second, before finally taking his hand. "Even taller than your father. That's something..." He sighed. "Well, until this happened, she'd never had anything but good to say about you." Sam nodded, wishing he could melt into the floor. There was an uncomfortable pause, before Mr. Moore sighed again and opened the door further. "Come in, then."

They followed him in, and Sam's breath caught at the awful scene. His beautiful, practically-perfect girlfriend was laid up, covered in wet gauze almost everywhere, attached to multiple beeping machines. Her hair was mostly gone, and a strip of bandaging across her middle was soaked with blood, and would obviously need to be changed again soon. A silent tear started to trickle without his permission. What had he done?

He intended to walk over to her, but didn't get the chance before an angry, middle-aged woman got in his face. "Don't you dare upset her. She said she's willing to see you, even though I don't think she needs to. You've done enough!" Mr. Moore grabbed her shoulders. "Honey. Please. This is neither the time nor the place." Sam let out a shuddery breath. He could see his dad and Dean tense beside him. "I... Mrs. Moore?" She glared. "Mrs. Moore, I..." He fumbled for words. "I want you to know that I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. Jessica's been nothing but good to me, and I've TRIED to be good to her, too. I just... I don't know. It happened so fast. I wish I could have recognized what was happening faster, but... Mrs. Moore, I'm so sorry." One silent tear had become many. He sniffled. She sniffed - in derision. "Well. Maybe you are sorry. And sure, you're cute with the tears, young man. But if you think I'm going to let you walk up here and act as though sounding mournful will fix everything, you'll have to think again. Je-" John was stiffening, when Mr. Moore intervened. "HONEY. Time and place. The sooner we let him talk to her, the sooner he can leave. Jessica's a grown woman, she can talk to who she pleases. Not now." And with that, he pulled her out in the hall.

Sam cast a terrified glance at his father, who just gestured over towards Jessica. "We'll be right over here if you need us. Unless you want us out in the hall." Sam wavered a second. "Maybe by the door?" John nodded, and pulled Dean to the wall beside him, a Dean that looked as though he would rather be ANYWHERE else, like he'd rather go to some Purgatory-like underworld and fight mutant, red-eyed gorilla-wolves than deal with anything that was currently going on. Sam wasn't so sure he didn't feel the same.

He walked over to her bed. "J-Jess?" She turned her head a fraction of an inch, and winced. Sam quickly moved up closer to her pillow so that she could see him without having to move any. "Jess..." He swallowed, tried and failed not to cry any more. "I'm SO sorry, Jess. I don't even know what to say!" His stupid nose was running. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the bedside table. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to DO. Jess-" 

"Sam." Her voice was a little raspy, but clear enough. It shut him up. "Sam, don't cry. You're just TOO sad when you cry. Please don't do that." She half-smiled, wincing again. Sam bit his lip and wiped his nose again. If she didn't want him crying, then the least he could do was try to comply! She paused a second. "What about you, Sam? Are YOU okay?" He nodded, still biting his lip in an effort to keep the stupid, offensive tears at bay. She smiled. "Good." Sam's eyes trailed back and forth, searching for a patch of skin he might touch without hurting her. The thumb nearest him didn't appear to be burned, so he tentatively wrapped a finger around it. Jessica closed her eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't." Sam jerked his hand back. "I'm sorry, Jess. Did I hurt you? Should I go get the nurse?" Jessica started to shake her head, before deciding that was too much. "No. It doesn't hurt THERE. But maybe you just shouldn't..." Something in her tone of voice made Sam uneasy, but she continued to speak. "Sam, I know you didn't mean to. You would never mean to. You're too nice of a guy. You want to do the right thing. I know. You've always tried so hard, almost too hard, sometimes." She paused and looked him in the eye. "So I wanna do the right thing, too. The right thing for BOTH of us."

Something twisted in his stomach, a very different kind of twisting from the ache of a heat starting. It was closer to the dread he'd felt as they'd walked to the door, if Sam had been willing to think about it right then. "Sam, I forgive you, because it wasn't really even your fault in the first place. My mom is mad at you, but that's just because she never likes it when I'm sick or hurt, and this is... this is kind of serious. She's just really upset. But I'm not mad, Sam." He wanted to let that make him feel better, but he could hear the 'but' coming. "I'm not mad. I just want what's best for you. What's best for both of us. And Sam? Maybe this isn't what's best."

Sam felt dizzy all of a sudden, even though his brain was still fighting hard to NOT understand what she was saying. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her. She kept talking. "I can't take care of you. I wanted to, and I even thought I was doing a pretty good job, there for a while. But I can't." Sam stared at her blankly, listening. "I love you, Sam. I really do. You're a GREAT guy. You're sweet, and kind, and funny; you're always doing things for me, always looking for ways to help me with things or surprise me. You're so chivalrous it's almost silly. You're a sensational lover, and the neatest and quietest roommate I've ever had. But Sam, we can't even BE roommates right now, because we don't even have an apartment, anymore." A tear fell from one of Jessica's eyes, making it that much harder for Sam to continue containing his own. "Sam, I knew that you needed to be watched over when your heat was coming. But that timer was only set for eighteen minutes. I wasn't even in the shower for twelve. I want to be there for you, but if I can't even walk away from you for a few minutes without worrying that the house will burn down around me..." She swallowed. "I can't do that. I can't literally be there for you every moment. I can't be there for you nine-tenths of your moments. What kind of life will we have, if I can't even go take a shower without making sure you have a babysitter?" Her breath sped up. "Sam, we could have LOST our lives. We could have DIED." The devastated, anguished look that shot across his face made her speak faster. "I'm not blaming you for that. It wasn't your fault. But Sam, it made me realize that I CAN'T give you what you need. And Sam, even though I know you've tried, and I haven't had even the first complaint with you all this time we've been together... Sam, you probably can't give me what I need, either." His hurt and confusion could probably be sensed on other floors. "What I mean is... think about it, Sam. What if we stayed together? What if we stayed together so long that we thought about getting married? What if we had a child? I wouldn't ever be able to leave them alone with you. I could never let you watch them alone while I went off somewhere to do something, because what if THAT was when you suddenly went into heat, and you fell on the floor and dropped the baby on its head? Or burned the nursery down? Or just couldn't get up off the floor to stop them from tumbling down the stairs, or eating something dangerous, or anything else? If we had a child, I could go outside for twenty minutes, and come back in to find one or both of you DEAD. And I can't handle that, Sam." Sam sat still as a stone. If not for the hurt look on his face, you wouldn't guess that he even heard her. "Sam, I love you. I love you so much. But I love you enough that I want you to be OK. You're not OK with me, so Sam?" She looked straight in his eyes. "I want you to find someone you CAN be okay with. Someone that CAN take care of you."

A long couple minutes passed, Sam just staring. He wanted so badly to grab her hand, but she'd asked him not to, so he just sat and stared, and let his mind race. He HEARD what she said. He understood it. But...

"Sam?" Her voice was soft, concerned, and it broke something inside of him. "Sam... I just want what's best for both of us. So we can be safe." Sam couldn't make his mouth work to say anything. "Your dad seems like he's pretty good at taking care of you. Or maybe... maybe some alpha. Maybe some alpha could do a better job. You'd probably be happier with an alpha, since there's only so much I can do for you during your heats, anyway. You said it yourself, that only an alpha could completely cure the pain. I'd... I'd like to think about you finding someone that could help you not hurt like that for three days." 

They sat in silence for a couple minutes, until Sam found enough of his voice again that he could at least whisper. "I really am sorry, Jess..." She tried to smile. "I know. Me, too." Sam's bottom lip trembled a little. "Maybe... maybe we could try again. Do things differently, more carefully. Set things up to make it easier, safer-" "No. I can't, Sam. We can't." Sam swiped a hand across his eyes. "Because your parents said not to?" Jessica's voice cracked. "Because I CAN'T. Because I don't want to DIE. Because I don't want YOU to die." Her breath hitched. "Sam, please don't argue about this and make this harder. I just want... I DID want a life with you. I wanted you and me and forever, and whatever that would bring. Until I realized what it WOULD bring. You need to go back with your family. They're used to taking care of you, used to keeping you safe. They know how, and I don't." Sam was trying not to hyperventilate. "Then I'll go back to staying in the motels with them while I wait. That's what we should have done this time, but we tried it, and now we know. Dad and Dean can keep getting me for them, and we ca-" Jess shook her head only the tiniest little bit. "No, Sam. You're not getting it. It would still be too much. I still couldn't ever have a LIFE, or children with you, unless we had a full-time, live-in nanny that didn't mind being around for... everything that goes with everything that happens. It's just... It's too much. Understand, Sam. Please."

Sam sat there in... something. Shock? Denial? Grief. Hurt. Something... "OK." He forced it out, choking on it. "OK." Another couple minutes went by in silence. Then he stood up. "Sam?" He looked at her. "I hope you find whatever or whoever it is you need. Go be happy for me?" Sam swallowed. "OK." He stared a second, breathed. "You, too, Jess. You go be happy, too." "OK..."

Sam turned back towards the door. He had forgotten that John and Dean were standing there. Her parents had come back in, too. All four of them had heard just about all of it, nearly every word. Mr. and Mrs. Moore didn't look angry anymore. They just looked... sad.

So Sam walked back to his dad and brother. They half-expected him to cry, or snuggle into them for comfort, or something. But he just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his face some pitiable, broken combination of dazed, bitter, and determined. "Mr. Moore, Mrs. Moore. It was... it was good to meet you." He looked at John and Dean's shoes, then their faces. "There's work to do, right?" And he left, marching back out to the car.


	39. On the Road Again

Sam didn't cry about it. He didn't cry when they got into the car, didn't cry further down the road, didn't cry that evening, or that week, or the next. Which honestly concerned his family. Sam had been known to cry about things so much smaller and less significant. The fact that he didn't cry about THIS gave them a clue as to just how affected he really was. He didn't cry, or whine and complain, or walk around sighing, or do any of the cliche' things heartbroken young people sometimes do. He was just kind of clipped and vacant, with just a hint of desperate bitterness underlying almost everything he said and did for a while. John said nothing to him about his less-than-halcyon attitude. He could empathize somewhat...

So it was the three of them, on the road again. Dean hated the REASON they were back together, but he didn't hate that they WERE. He was privately of the opinion that having Sam back was seriously awesome - or that it would be, if the poor guy could quit moping, already. He didn't mean that insensitively, 'cause he totally understood why Sam would mope. Jessica was a pretty great girl. A hot girl that let him move in with her, cooked like nobody's business, and would do heats with him? Yeah, Jessica was great. He could see why Sam would fall so hard for her. If Sam had been the one to dump HER, Dean might have tried to chase that, himself!

But damn! He couldn't help but think that WAS a crappy way for it to end. It was rotten for Sam AND Jess. (Dean could think of her as Jess, that's what Sam always called her!) It was really just awful for EVERYBODY, even their dad. Dean knew that their dad had liked her, liked how good of a thing she was for Sam, 'cause Sam had obviously been really happy with her, while it lasted. Dean kind of wanted to be mad at her, but he DID get why she told Sam to go. The girl had almost died in a fire that Sam caused. The fact that Sam didn't mean to wouldn't have meant shit if she had actually lost her life. It would still have been a dead girl, a lost life. Dean shuddered to think of it. Damn. No wonder her dad was kinda chilly and standoffish, and her mom ready to snap somebody's head off. If someone else had started a fire and SAM had almost died in it? Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't have been quite as tactful and controlled as they'd been!

Sam just tried to stay busy, and not let himself think about it too much. He just buckled down and focused on working little temporary jobs, going for morning runs, and shooting at trees in the afternoons. What good would it do to fall apart? None. It wouldn't make anything right, wouldn't help Jess heal any faster, wouldn't put them back like they had been. He would just be hurting out loud for nothing, so he was going to take a page out of Dean's book, and try acting as though everything were fine and he didn't care. The key word being "try", because it was painfully obvious that he DID care, that it was eating him up inside. But still he slogged on...

It was only after Sam woke up from a nightmare for the eleventh night in a row that Dean finally (if somewhat reluctantly) did what Sam needed him to, and actually TALKED about it with him. He rolled over, sighed deeply, pulled Sam to his neck, and just INSISTED that Sam go ahead and tell him about it. And Sam did - for over four hours. No more sleep was had that night, not until almost dawn, as Sam disjointedly hiccupped and hyperventilated, pouring out everything about how wonderful everything had been, how much he regretted his part in ruining it all, how guilty he felt for getting Jess hurt, and how afraid he was that he would NEVER be able to marry or mate. He told Dean about the hope that had sparked, that maybe he would be able to keep what he'd had with Jessica forever, prompting his interest in rings... "Really? You were THAT into her?" Sam nodded, and buried his face into Dean's shoulder. "Thought maybe she was the one." A pause and a chuff. "Guess that's what I get for thinking, huh?" 

There was a long, drawn-out pause as Dean mulled that over. He licked his lip and sighed. "You 'member that girl I told you about?" He couldn't see Sam's eyes roll in the dark. "WHICH girl, Dean? There's a new one every other day." "The one in Cape Girardeau. Cassie. Cassie Robinson. I told you about her, right?" Sam thought for a second. "The one studying to be a journalist? The one you were with for, like, a whole two-and-a-half weeks?" Dean nodded. "Yeah." Sam waited. "OK... What about her?" Dean sighed; shifted position. "She was awesome. AWESOME girl. Like, not JUST beautiful and hot and good in bed - though she was definitely all that. She was just awesome, period. All-around awesome PERSON." Dean paused, rubbed his face. "She was a girl, but she wasn't always completely girly. She could be... she could be ballsy, man. Fearless, you know? Spoke her mind, didn't like anybody trying to tell her what to do. One seriously awesome girl, not just some giggly goof-brained ditz." Sam tucked in closer, drawn in to the story he was being told. "And?" Dean sighed, closed his eyes, and willed himself to keep talking. "And I, uh.... I really liked her." Pause. "I mean, I REALLY liked her. Maybe... (Dean cussed inside his own head) maybe almost as much as like you liked Jessica." Sam sat up. "Really?" Dean rolled over to face AWAY from Sam. "Yeah." Sam's brain was whirring. "But... OK. So what...?" Dean swallowed, readjusted his pillow. "I sorta half thought maybe I could just have ONE girl. Like... for always. Maybe." Pause. "Seemed like she liked me too, you know? But, uh, she didn't want me to leave with Dad and come back. So I... I talked to her." Sam was on mental pins and needles. He might have a stroke he didn't get to hear the rest of this story! "And? What'd you talk about? What'd she say?" Dean gritted his teeth as he readjusted the blanket. "STUFF, man. Stuff. Like, 'being an omega forever with somebody' stuff." He huffed. "And she thought I was making stuff up. I don't know WHY. I mean, she could SEE that I was an omega. Saw my eye-rings, saw all the fucking slick I got all in her sheets. But she didn't believe me about the heats, didn't believe I'd need help, didn't believe I could get pregnant during 'em if I was with a dude, didn't believe alphas could be dangerous, didn't believe much of anything I had to say about any of it." He snorted. "Guess she thought I was just leaking slick for the hell of it, I don't know." He paused for a minute, was quieter, then. "But even after I brought her books and stuff, told her to look it up and then she believed me... Well, then she believed me. But she just didn't wanna do it." He picked at the edge of the blanket for a minute. "Said she still liked me, but she was a realist, that it wouldn't work." Sam's heart clenched in sympathy. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, until Dean finished up with, "So I'm just saying. You're not the only omega guy that's been dumped. Even if you did get way closer with your girl, moving in and doing heats and stuff." Loud exhale. "So yeah, your story sucks WAY more than mine. But I still think I get it." Sam had nothing to say to that. He just snuggled in closer, pushing his nose into the back of Dean's neck, hugging him to him.

John's boys had been so involved in their conversation, that it never occurred to them that their father might have woken up, too. He'd heard all of it. He just couldn't think of anything to DO about it... 

Things slowly seemed to get better for Sam. He was finally throwing himself into training the way his dad had always wanted him to. The weekend fight lessons became a thing to behold. Sam was finally of a size and strength to hold his own against his older brother, even when Dean WASN'T cutting him any slack. SAM was the bigger one now, and he had a sea of frustrations to fuel him. He never really HURT Dean, never injured him, but he didn't go easy on him, either. Sam just got earnest about WINNING most of their rounds, as a way to burn off the grief and vexation that roiled beneath his skin. Dean didn't resent it, because he knew what was happening, but he griped about it, anyway. "Oww! Fuck! You remember this is just PRACTICE, right? Don't have to whomp so hard on me, this ain't a real fight!" Sam actually half-smiled at that. "Yeah, well. TOLD you I'd grow up someday. BIG brother." Dean rubbed his bruised shin and glared in annoyed affection. "Bitch..."

It was probably all the lighthearted interactions with his brother that really did the most to help get Sam's mind straight again, because Dean was bound and determined to NOT let Sam stay in a funk forever. He made half-baked jokes about everything, at every turn. A trip to a thrift shop to replace pretty much everything Sam'd had (because John's pants wouldn't do for long - they were a bit high-watered!) was like an episode out of a bad sitcom, starring Dean the Barnstormer. He was on a roll, that day. "Aww, come on. You'd look so PRETTY in this pink blouse! Wouldn't he, Dad?" And, "Hey! Bell-bottoms with ducks on the pockets! You need those, dude..." Sam just rolled his eyes at the fuzzy, tie-dyed pajama pants Dean threw at him. John snatched the bright orange jacket that said, "Tastes Like Chicken" right out of Dean's hands, and Sam quit counting how many loud floral Hawaiian shirts he said no to. Dean was having ENTIRELY too much fun, way more fun than he had any right to. He took it further and further, right up until John finally ran out of patience after Dean decided to sneak up behind Sam and startle him in a clown mask he'd found, causing Sam to squeak and knock over an entire rack of shoes. THAT was when John actually swatted him a few times. Getting his ass smacked in public had Dean turning as pink as the woman's shirt he'd tried to push on Sam. "DAD!", he hissed, eyes darting everywhere. "What the hell? I'm twenty-six! You can NOT do me like some little kid!" John popped him again. "Well. I just DID. Act like an adult, so I won't be tempted. And help him pick all those shoes up!" Dean scowled, and did his best to ignore all the people staring. They paid for what they had and got out quick after that, Sam biting his lip to contain the sniggles. Dean stayed peevish about it all the rest of that day, to John and Sam's great amusement...

But John appreciated what Dean's goofing off was doing for Sam. It was distracting him, lifting his spirits more than he probably even realized. So John made the executive decision to take them up to see Adam, even though he and Dean had just been up there a few weeks previous. A visit with his younger brother would do Sam good. He hadn't seen Adam since the summer trip to Maine, and John, himself was keen to check on the boy - especially now that the kid was presented!


	40. And Then Adam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I APOLOGIZE. It has been entirely too long since I last updated this story. My only excuse is that my real life got picked up and shaken, and I've spent nearly a month trying to get things in order again, because unfortunately all THAT was just a tad bit more of a priority. BUT! I'm back, and here we go again...

Adam was twelve when Sam left for Stanford, and for the first two years, visits with Adam were roughly the same as they'd always been, just minus Sam. Dean and Adam were plenty enough for John to deal with all on their own, though. Some of the things he heard himself saying...

"NO. You may NOT take the filtration system apart. Doesn't matter that it's empty!"

"I don't CARE that you're twenty-four and that it's your money. You've both had more than enough to eat. Gonna make yourselves sick, and I'll have to explain why I let Adam die of gluttony. I'm cutting you two off."

"Do I even wanna know why there's a pile of rocks in the bed?"

"That is NOT what conversion adapters are for!!!" 

As it got closer to the kid's fourteenth birthday, though, John grew tenser by the day. He'd HAVE to tell Kate. He'd just HAVE to. If the boy presented and she didn't know, or wasn't alert and watching for it... Well, John just had to tell her. So he headed up to Windom, so as to arrive a couple days BEFORE Adam's birthday.

That year, he DID bring presents - though not the sort either of them might have been expecting. There was absolutely NO way to know when the kid would present, but he was going to make sure they were ready ahead of time! So he and Dean rolled into town, and pulled up in front of the Milligan house. Kate and Adam were waiting, the kid's stuff packed and ready to go, but John sighed and stood there looking at her. "We need to talk..."

It went just about how John had expected it to. Kate first of all wanted to know how John could possibly even KNOW that Adam was an omega, if he hadn't presented yet. With Dean sitting right there, he reminded her how his other two had always insisted that they smelled something on him, said that they'd finally come to an agreement on just what it was they smelled. When she was quite obviously unimpressed, John took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and told her about the OTHER omegas that had said the same thing.

"John! You took our son to be sniffed by complete strangers? And didn't even TELL me? And didn't tell me what they said, either! I..." Kate looked as though she could gnaw through nails, she was so mad. "You know what? I... I think YOU'RE the one with the sniffing problem! You've always let your other boys do it, you're dragging Adam to other people that do it, and you don't even think it's important enough to TELL me? What ELSE have you let happen? What OTHER surprises do you have for me, John?" John bit his tongue, trying his damnedest not to yell. "You're right, I should have told you. But Kate, would you have reacted any differently than you are now? Would you actually have given your permission?" Kate was holding her head. "I don't know. We'll NEVER know, because you didn't ask! Didn't even tell me afterwards!" She shook her head. "Well, I guess Adam all BUT told me. More than once he's made comments about being an omega someday. But why should I have taken him seriously? I just thought it was a boy looking up to his older brothers, wanting to be like them." She stared long and hard at John. "You've got to know that I can't believe you. John, male omegas are just too rare, there's absolutely no way on Earth that you have THREE. That you actually do have TWO is statistic-shattering enough. What kind of - John, what kind of freakish biological anomaly would you be if you had three? NO ONE has three. You can't think I'm stupid enough to fall for this. No one person has THREE omega children, be those omegas male OR female. It just doesn't happen!" John's face was a study in exasperation. "I KNOW. God knows I know! It's not information I plan to spread around. They'd probably come haul me off to study me in a lab, or something. I know EXACTLY how it sounds!" He raked a hand through his hair. "But you don't have to believe me. You'll see for yourself. Actually, I don't know how you haven't seen it already. His weakness compared to other boys his age, how particular he is about his schedules and routines, the fact that he DIDN'T grow out of the sniffing, even after he was old enough to realize that what his brothers did wasn't normal! It's obvious, it's painfully obvious. But you don't have to believe it. I just need you to be ready whenever it happens. Because it's GOING to happen. So don't believe me. But for Adam's sake, be prepared, just in case I'm right. Because HE'S the one that will pay if I'm not wrong, and you're not ready. I couldn't care less what kind of lying lunatic you think I am. I'm only having this conversation with you because I care about the boy's safety, and I assumed that as a nurse and his MOTHER, you'd want all the help you could get ensuring it. Am I wrong, Kate?"

He had gotten progressively louder and more aggressive, and was now leaning towards her with an intensity that made HER lean back. She didn't even know how she felt, now. It was hard to argue with the level of conviction he was displaying....

She shifted her jaw. "Fine. Fine, John. Let's just assume you're right, that you even COULD be right. That you're not just HOPING he's another omega. What would you have me do?" John gave her a truly incredulous look. "I don't WANT him to be an omega. I don't WANT him vulnerable that way. He just IS, so I'm warning you and trying to deal with it. I do, in fact, love our son. I wouldn't WISH complications on him!" Kate closed her eyes. "Fine. So you don't want him to be an omega, you just want me ready when he is. What does ready mean, hmm? I watch for signs of him going into heat, look to see if he grows golden rings around his irises. Anything else?" John's blood pressure spiked. Was she mocking him? This woman had best not be mocking him... "Plenty else. What their bodies go through during heat isn't the half of it. It's keeping him SAFE, particularly from alphas." Kate fixed him with a 'keep talking, Idiot' look, and resigned herself to just listening. "OK..." John sighed and held his head, deciding to start with the basics. "You're a nurse, Kate. Most of this HAS to be stuff you already know..."

It was over an hour later, and Dean and Adam had moved over to squish themselves together on the far end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching parents the way they might have watched a movie. Adam leaned in toward Dean to whisper, "Do they still seem pissed off to you?" Dean shrugged. "Not like they were earlier." They kept watching. "I'd say your mom looks more, I dunno, anxious than pissed. Think she's actually filing some of what Dad's saying away." Adam bit his lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Hey. Imagine if Sam was here." Dean grinned like a madman. "Oh, damn." He had to bite his own lip. "Trying to put his geeky two cents in? Dad would have his head." Adam smirked. "Poor Sam. Mom would probably bite his head off, too. I mean, if Dad wasn't being all scary serious, she probably wouldn't be listening to him, either." Dean thought about it for a second. "I don't know. Maybe she WOULD listen to Sam. He's this giant ball of empathy and feelings and 'I understand you'. Girls respond to that shit. Plus he could probably be ALMOST imposing, if he had to. I mean, he's bigger than Dad, now." Adam stuffed his mouth full of popcorn. "Maybe. 'Specially since YOU'RE the one Mom always thought might be a bad influence." Dean's head spun around at that. "What do you mean? What'd I ever do to make her think bad of me?" Adam shrugged. "It's not that she thought BAD of you. She just figured that if one of you were gonna get me in trouble, you'd be the one to do it." Dean frowned. "Hey. That totally depends on what you mean by trouble. It's not like I'd get you HURT, or anything..."

Eventually, John had filled her in on pretty much everything useful there was to know, EXCEPT for the fact that he was a hunter. He had managed to share literally almost everything he knew about omegas, wanting her to know and be ready, whether Adam presented in two days, or two years. Dean and Adam had moved themselves over to the dining table and were playing cards, when John snapped his fingers. "Dean. Adam. Come help me unload stuff." Dean looked confused for a second. "Stuff...? Oh! Yeah." He turned to Adam. "'Salt'. We gotcha three buckets of it..." They hauled them in the house (it took Dean and Adam a few minutes of straining, with their weak omega muscles) and set them in front of Kate. John pried one open. "THIS, is 'salt'. The alpha repellent I was telling you about." She tentatively pinched a little and brought it to her nose. "I can't smell anything... You're sure this isn't actual salt?" He gestured to Adam. "Have HIM smell it." She grabbed a larger pinch and held it out to Adam, who sniffed it and shivered. "Kinda tickles..." Kate's brow furrowed as she tried to smell it again. "Tickles?" Adam shrugged. "Yeah. Like a nose full of bubbles, or something." It was John's turn to shrug. "Same answer my other two have always given. I don't know what it means, either. But I DO know that alpha's don't like it. Unless a presented omega's scent is too strong nearby, they''ll go a long way out of their way to avoid it." Kate looked at the three grey buckets of white granules. "And you think I should spread it around the house..." John nodded. "You don't need it everywhere. Mostly his room, and across entrances. Doors. Windows. The porch, walkway up from the driveway. Alphas aren't common, but if one moves to town or presents around here, you DON'T want them getting close enough to the house to catch his scent inside." Kate just shook her head and sighed. "Fine. I can sprinkle white particles around to help alleviate your fears for our son." Damn her, she WAS mocking him...

John just pushed through. "And these." He produced a new bottle of 'scent-suppressants' from his coat pocket. Kate accepted it cautiously, as though it would bite. "They'll help tone down his scent, make him harder to sniff out. Neutralize his scent, some." Kate's shake of her head was more decided, this time. "Medications? John. I'd have to speak to his doctor." John remained standing. "When you take him in after he presents, they'll write him a prescription for exactly this. Only that prescription will cost you an arm and both legs. I have connections, people I've known for years that can help me get hold of them for almost half the price. So take 'em, hang on to 'em. No sense paying for what I can give you free." Kate frowned. "What sort of connections?" John gave her nothing. "People I know. I have two other omegas, had an omega wife. I've HAD to learn things and meet people." Kate turned the bottle gingerly, sighing. "John..." He waited. "John, I'm not giving him ANYTHING, not unless he DOES present." He nodded. "Of course. But HAVE them, for when he does." Kate set them down and rubbed her eyes. "John. I appreciate your concern, you trying to look after him. But he DOESN'T need his father brainwashing him into thinking he's going to be an omega. What if it doesn't happen?" John stood there, looking at her in all seriousness. "If his sixteenth birthday comes and goes, and he doesn't present? Then I was wrong. Sam and Dean were wrong. Other omegas were wrong. I'll admit it and apologize. But that's not gonna happen. One of these days it IS gonna happen, and you'll thank God you have all this when it does." There was a long, drawn-out pause, before Kate just threw up her hands. "Fine. I have no idea why I'm allowing this insanity, but fine." She sighed. "I guess you'll want to take off with him. Get your stuff, Adam."

Adam started for his backpack, but John cleared his throat. "Actually, I've got a present for him." Adam looked behind him in interest. "His birthday's Tuesday, but I'd rather he open it now, here in front of you. That way we can talk about it, if it concerns you." Kate gave him a suspicious look. After everything else that evening, she wasn't at all sure she was ready for anything else that might 'concern' her. Adam, though, bounded back over in excitement. "Yeah? What is it?" John presented him with a little rectangular box. "Sit down beside your mother, let her see what you've got." Adam sat and ripped it open, to reveal what was actually a remarkably beautiful pocketknife. With a pearl-colored stone handle carved with elaborate swirling vines inlaid with a deep forest green, it was truly a small work of art. Adam and Dean BOTH gasped.

After a second or two of staring? "Wow... Dad, that's amazing!" Adam shot up to hug John. "It's fantastic, Dad. I mean, LOOK at it!" It WAS a pretty fantastic pocketknife. It wasn't a true switchblade (those were illegal in too many places, and John wanted the boy to be able to KEEP a knife on him) but the tiny 2-inch blade DID slide out uncommonly smoothly. It was so sharp Adam probably could have SHAVED with it, and the artistry and workmanship just in the ornate handle alone was something to gape at. Dean almost looked jealous. "That's a NICE knife. Dang..." Yeah. He WAS jealous. He ran one of his jealous fingers over the clusters of exquisitely carved miniature leaves. "That's like a SHOW knife. Put one like that in a museum! And look at that EDGE!" The boys were just about to start geeking out together over it, when Kate's voice snapped them all back to the reality of the Milligan living room. "You got him a knife? John, why a knife? He's a child, what does he need with a weapon?"

Adam gripped it a little harder, suddenly afraid that his mother might not let him keep it. He squeezed it tight in one fist. It was HIS now, right?

John stood there with his hands in his pockets. "Everything we just talked about. I know you'll do everything reasonable to protect him, but neither of us can be with him ALL the time. If he ever needs a way to protect HIMSELF, I want him to have one." Kate shook her head and sounded angry, again. "John, how far are you going to take it? You want to SCARE him, have him on edge all the time thinking he's in danger? I accepted the rest of it, but now you want to ARM him? What's he going to do, John? Stab people, and tell the school and the cops that it's because he's going to turn into an omega?" John glared down at her in mild irritation, closing his eyes and sighing before he answered. "Or maybe it's just because he's a teenaged boy. A boy should have a pocketknife, whether he's an omega, a beta, or anything else. I'd probably get him one eventually no matter WHAT he was, just because they're handy things to have. Useful for all KINDS of things. Don't MOST boys wind up with one? It's just something men carry in their pockets, like wallet, keys, and cellphone. Doesn't have to be a weapon. Could just be a TOOL." Kate looked unsure. "Won't he get in trouble with it?" John shook his head. "Not if he's got any sense at all. Not if he's taught what to do and not do with it." Kate blanched. "You'd put that on ME? I have enough on my plate, John!" He sighed. "I'll help, too, of course. I'm here as much as I CAN be." Kate sighed. "I don't know, John... Maybe when he's older?" John gestured at their wide-eyed son, who sat clutching his gift to his stomach. "You want to pry it out of his hands, or did you want ME to take it back? Looks like he'll be pretty disappointed, either way." Kate bit her lip and glared. "That's not even fair, John. You should have asked first." John fixed her with a steady look.

"In fourteen years, Kate, I've asked almost nothing of you. I don't interfere with how you see fit to raise him, seldom question anything you decide, barely been involved, except to send money and show up to visit with him several times a year. He's pretty much been YOUR son to raise all these years. But these are just a few things I'd like a say in. For HIS sake." When the look on Kate's face indicated that she might be almost ready to argue, John lowered his voice and took on a gentler tone. "Please, Kate. Let the boy have it. It's just a pocketknife, not an M-16. Even if he's not an omega, he's growing up. Let the boy have something he can show himself responsible with. A pocketknife is like a rite of passage, or something. Let him keep it." She looked to be thinking it over, so John added, "Not like I gave him anything the last few years. Handing YOU twenty extra dollars probably doesn't feel like much of a present to him. THIS he can carry and show off. Please, Kate." With all three of them staring at her, Kate threw her hands up in defeat. "Fine. But Adam, if you do anything with it that you shouldn't, I WILL take it from you for a while..." Adam threw his arms around her with a grin. "YES! Thanks, Mom!" John smirked at her. She rolled her eyes. "Alright, then. If you're still leaving me for the weekend, best go get your bag..."

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John was a thousand miles away a few months later, holed up in a scuzzy little roadside motel somewhere in Pennsylvania, when he got the call.  
"John? John, I owe you a thousand apologies, because you were right. He's presenting." John's heart dropped. "Now? Kate, what's going on, where is he, is he safe?" John was on the verge of panicking. His youngest was presenting, and he was halfway across the country, unable to do a thing to help. He had no idea what to do, because there was NOTHING he could do! Kate must have been able to hear him freaking out, because she instantly took a more soothing tone with him. "He's fine, John. I mean, he's MOSTLY fine, except for the heat. We just got back from the emergency room." Well, THAT didn't soothe John at all! "The emergency room! Kate, what went wrong? WHAT HAPPENED?" Kate sighed deeply. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just... I didn't realize what was happening. I walked back to his room to tell him good-night and to go to bed, and I found him in the floor, thrashing around and whimpering. I rushed over to check on him, and he was absolutely burning up. I was so worried, I didn't even notice all the slick right away. I just scooped him up, threw him in the car, and rushed back to work. Him PRESENTING didn't even occur to me, not until we were already there and he'd soaked right through his clothes. The doctors, they just CONFIRMED it for me." Kate's ability to pretend she was fine with it all suddenly died; her voice broke. "I... John, I'd never seen anything like it. I thought he was dying. He was SO hot, and he wasn't responding. I was trying to ask him what was wrong, and he just groaned and curled in on himself." She sniffed. "I know you told me it was going to happen. I know you warned what it would be like. But you didn't say it would be so awful. You didn't say he would look like he was about to start seizing!" 

She let herself cry for a minute. John swallowed. "But he's fine? The doctors, they said he'd be alright?" Kate tried to clear her throat. "Yes. They said he's fine. That it's perfectly normal." She took a deep breath. "They gave me a pile of pamphlets, an entire bag full of literature." She let out a shaky laugh. "I think they were actually more concerned about ME." She cleared her throat again. "They wrote him a prescription for those scent-blocking pills, just like you said they would. They said a lot of the same things you did - to just keep his room cool, and make sure I force him to drink something every so often, not let him get dehydrated. Because I work there and they know me, they gave me a pack of those disposable bed pads to lay under him, to help absorb some of the slick, so maybe he won't ruin the sheets. Told me to take him to his doctor just as soon as he's well enough to walk after he comes out of it." 

There was a pause. "But where is he NOW? In his room?" Kate nodded, then realized that John couldn't see her over the phone. "Yes, in his room. On his bed. I pushed it up against the wall, pulled a chair over beside it so maybe he wouldn't fall off. I'm... I'm sitting in here watching him right now." John got serious. "That 'salt' I gave you. Are you using it?" Kate had to think a second. 'Salt'...? "No. No, but it's sitting here. John, I never actually expected any of this to happen. It WASN'T supposed to happen. I was just humoring you, since it seemed so important to you." She could hear his breath speed up. "Kate, USE IT. Please. Now. It IS important. Please." Kate stood up, a thousand times more willing to listen than she had been when he'd first told her about Adam's upcoming status. "O-OK. Just, just give me a minute. I'm doing it. Doors and windows, right?" John raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "ESPECIALLY doors and windows. All over his floor and around his bed. All up and down the hall. But surround his bed with it, first!" Kate breathed deeply. "OK, OK. I'm doing it. But John, please. Just tell me WHY. The boy's inside his own locked house. Surely he won't be bothered, here?" John closed his eyes. "Can you SMELL him, Kate?" She laughed uneasily. "I can't NOT smell him. He's overpowering, right now." John sighed. "That's why. And you're a beta. An alpha with an even stronger sense of smell, and an instinctive draw to that smell? Will be able to smell him from down the street." He swallowed and spoke more quietly, almost a whisper. "And a locked door... may be no deterrent. The door was locked the night my wife was killed. And she wasn't even in heat." Kate froze in horror. "Oh, John. Is that what happened?" John stared into space, holding his phone to his ear with a grip that probably should have broken it. "That's... what I don't want happening to my boys. I can't lose them like that, too." He tried to force his blood pressure back down. "So please, Kate. USE THE 'SALT'."

Kate rushed to spread the stuff all over the house, then sat back down beside Adam, tipped part of a bottle of water into his mouth, and talked to John for probably almost two hours.

"Kate, I would be there. I would come. But I, I can't right now. Dean went into heat this evening, too, about the same time you say Adam did. I can't move him, there's no one else to watch him. By the time he's up and out of it, Adam will be, too." He sighed. "But I'll be on my way just as soon as I can. Within the week." They continued to talk, he trying to make sure she knew EXACTLY what to do, what she would need, how things would most likely go. Reminded her to start him on the 'scent-suppressants' the first morning after the heat broke, even BEFORE she took him to the doctor. He racked his brain for everything that he might need to tell her. Explained why she should insist on Adam wearing a pad when they left for the doctor's, too. "The slick, it's not just a heat thing. It'll be an issue ANY time he's even a little bit aroused, by anyone or anything. There won't be anything for it, he'll just either have to wear one, or you can just put him in Depends. Because he WILL regularly be a mess, without one." And his heightened senses. "I know he already likes sniffing and hugging. But it's going to double, triple. He'll smell EVERYTHING, and he'll want, he'll NEED you to make a special point of touching him." And the doctor. "He's going to hate the exam, but GET HIS FORM FILLED OUT. His A/B/O-0123." And on and on...

They sat in silence for a moment, and Kate brushed her hand over Adam's forehead (the boy had finally fallen asleep) and sighed. "I don't even know how you do it. Two of them, now three. John, how do you not go insane?" John, on his end, reached over to pet his eldest, who writhed and grunted miserably. "Some days? Some days I'm not so sure I'm NOT going crazy..."

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John and Dean were in Windom five days later. They came bearing yet more 'salt', yet another bottle of 'scent-suppressants', and several packages of feminine hygiene products - just in case, uh, the Milligans were running low on them. To see Adam again - this time with thin golden rings around his irises - was bittersweet. John was ALWAYS glad to see the boy, and he WANTED to be glad to see such plain evidence of him growing up and maturing. He would never really wish that his sons WEREN'T omegas, since it didn't make sense to wish them to be anything but what they were. But still it made his heart clench, because all that those rings meant to him was DANGER, that his and Kate's little boy was now a target. They advertised that Adam was now walking, breathing alpha-bait, an object of unreasonable desire to the monsters John hunted. They were reminders to John that his boy was no longer safe, and it made his blood run cold.

As it turned out, Adam was far less upset about either the exam or the fact that he now had to wear pads, than he was about taking pills. He'd always been healthy, had never been sicker than maybe just a hint of the sniffles and a touch of a cough a couple different times. The idea of taking pills bugged him no end. He didn't think it was really necessary, and he didn't like the idea of covering up his scent, so he had weaseled his way out of taking them when his mother had opened the bottle and handed him one that morning. John and his doctor had both explained WHY he needed to in graphic detail, and Adam was bright enough that there was no real doubt the boy understood. But Adam just didn't LIKE it.

"Come on, Dad, there's gotta be other ways to stay safe, right? Besides pills? I just... I just really don't want them." John blinked. He hadn't expected ADAM to give him any hassle. Adam had always been the easiest of his three to manage, the one that gave him the LEAST trouble! Adam was always sweet and agreeable, always did what he was told. Right? Or maybe not. Maybe John just hadn't been around enough to see just how much Winchester stubbornness the boy had inherited!

The attempt to just quietly talk him into being sensible and taking them went on for nearly thirty minutes, until John decided that enough was enough. This was just TOO important...

"SIT DOWN, ADAM." Adam startled at his father's abrupt change of tone, and promptly dropped himself into one of the kitchen chairs. John stood in front of him, all business. "It's been explained to you that this is a SAFETY issue. But now it's as much about OBEDIENCE, as anything else. Your mother asked you to take them. You should trust her enough to believe that she wouldn't ask you to do anything that wasn't good for you. But you're not doing what she asked, you're arguing and trying to get out of it." John squatted down and looked Adam straight in the eye, his voice taking on a hard edge as Adam shifted in his seat. "But now it's done. I'm not asking, and I'm not gonna argue anymore. I'm TELLING you what to do, and you'll obey. Because I'm not your mother. You WILL follow MY orders, Mr. Milligan, or you will regret forcing my hand. That understood?" Adam nodded, bug-eyed. John motioned to Kate. "Then we'll need a glass of water, so he can take this pill." She handed John one with a look that said they would talk about this. He nodded in agreement, but turned his attention back to Adam. "Open your mouth." Adam looked around at Dean and his mom, only to get eyebrows and a nod. He slowly opened his mouth, and John popped it in there. "Here. Water. Swallow it." Adam did so, looking thoroughly discomfited. John smiled and patted his leg. "See there? Not the end of the world. You'll do the same thing tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and EVERY morning after, and it'll all be just fine." Then John's sterner look and voice were back. "You had BETTER do the same thing every morning. And without arguing with your mother about it. You understand me?" Adam nodded, but John shook his head. "Not good enough, Adam. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" Adam appeared to shrink, as he whispered, "Yes, sir." John smiled and stood up, ruffling Adam's hair. "Good." He pulled his upset son up to him for a hug. "Alright, then. That's done. Only because I love you, boy." He kissed Adam's temple, before gently pushing him out of the kitchen. "You and Dean go do something for a few. I'm gonna talk to your mom." Adam hurried to his room, too quickly to hear his mom and dad start a discussion about whether or not John had been too harsh with the boy...

Adam and Dean were splayed out on his Adam's bed, with Adam's nose shoved angrily into Dean's arm. "Since when did Dad get freaking MEAN?" Dean snorted. "Mean? Dude, you didn't even GET fussed at. You got off light. You're fucking spoiled." Adam sniffed. "Dad never talks to me like that. He never gets mad. It almost sounded like a threat, or something." Dean nosed at Adam's hair. "Only reason Dad never talked to you like that, is 'cause you never tried to not obey, before. Dude, and ESPECIALLY stuff like safety and omega crap. He's serious about all that. You couldn't have picked anything else to start something over? 'Cause I mean, he's right, you know. You really DON'T want some alpha following your scent." He paused, got serious for a moment. "It's bad. Some creep coming up on you? You really don't want that. Had it happen one time. Ain't good. Motherfucker TOUCHED me, and probably woulda done more, too, if there hadn't been teachers and people around." Adam thought about it. "Was it really that bad? I've never met an alpha..." Dean nodded. "Yeah. It's bad. S'what the pills are supposed to help keep from happening. THAT'S why Dad got mad. Shoulda seen that one coming." Adam huffed. "Well, I didn't." Dean grinned. "Well, now you know. 'Cause he totally WAS threatening you. Your ass is TOAST, if he finds out you're not taking those pills, again." Adam grumbled into Dean's shirt. "Is not. Dad's just being a scary despot." Dean laughed. "You and Sam, and all the fancy words. Really, dude. You've probably never even BEEN in real trouble, have you? Well, if you wanna experience it, you just let Dad find out you're not taking your pills. You'll be in SO much trouble." Adam snuggled in closer. "He'd fuss more?" Dean snorted. "Forget fussing. Probably drop whatever he was doing just to drive up here and bust your ass, is more like it." Adam sat up and stared. "He would not." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Wanna bet? He doesn't even fool around with us being safe." Adam crossed his arms. "Dad wouldn't do that..." Dean smirked and grabbed his phone. "I'll call Sam, let HIM tell you." 

Sam was neither in class nor at work at that hour. He was actually sitting in a dining hall grabbing supper, when they called. "Dean! Hey!" Dean grinned. "Sammy! You're on speakerphone; I'm up here with Adam!" Adam spoke up. "Hey, Sam!" Sam set his fork down. "Adam! Hey, you alright?" Sam had already heard about Adam presenting, and had actually called earlier that morning, to see if he'd finished recovering from it, and just to acknowledge the huge turning point in his little brother's life. "Yeah, I'm fi-" Dean interrupted. "Sam. Tell Adam why he needs to take the pills." They couldn't see Sam frown. "Adam already knows why he needs to take 'em. Right? I mean, Dad explained all that, right?" Adam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know why. Keep my scent down, so I don't attract alphas so much." Dean lay back on Adam's pillow. "Yeah, but Sam, what would happen if he didn't?" Sam sighed; he had no idea why Dean needed him to go over all this again... "Well, your scent carries further when it isn't dampened. The further away you can be smelt from, the more likely it is that a crazy alpha will smell you and come harass you. You wanna keep the area you can be smelled in as small as possible, otherwise you could attract some creep that'll mate you when you don't even want it, and then abuse you all the time, and you'll be stuck with them and just have to deal or die. But we already know this. Dad explained all this..." Dean smirked. "But Sam, what would happen if he didn't take his pills, and Dad found out?" 

There was a long and very pregnant pause, before Sam laughed. "Uh. Yeah. Just take your pills, man." Dean grinned. "Aw, but Sam, why? What would happen?" Sam sounded nervous just talking about it. "Dad would come UNGLUED, that's what. I don't even know, 'cause I've never been that stupid. I had plenty of other things to get in trouble over. I never needed to add NOT TAKING MY PILLS to my list of crimes." Dean grinned. "'Cause Dad woulda beat your ass, wouldn't he?" Adam jumped back in. "No way. Dad wouldn't do that. That's crazy." Sam cleared his throat. "Is that what he said he'd do? 'Cause I mean, actually... he might. If there's ANYTHING Dad's serious about, it's us staying safe. And Adam, you taking your pills really IS important. It's freaky enough when an over-excited alpha comes up to you when you're ON them. It'd probably be a lot worse if you WEREN'T on them. So please, Adam. Just take 'em, whether you'd be in trouble or not." Adam sighed. "Yeah. OK." There was silence for a second. "But... Dad never did YOU like that, right? I mean, Dad wouldn't really be like that." Sam cleared his throat again. "Well, uh, I'll put it like this. I'm twenty-one years old, and I STILL don't go out in dark parking lots by myself. He, uh, made sure I learned that lesson." Dean laughed...

So Adam reluctantly took his pills, and John (and Dean) were up in Windom, MN more often than ever before, nearly every other month. Adam slowly adjusted into his omeganess, and began to grow faster and faster into a young MAN, as opposed to the boy he'd been - and he drove his mother crazy.

"John. He's going to have to stop with the sniffing people. I thought we had a handle on it, but there's been a note or call home from the school every other day this week. All his teachers have assigned him a seat alone off to the side of the room, because they can't trust him to keep his nose to himself!" John rubbed his forehead. "Talk to him. Let HIM know what you don't want him doing." Kate sighed. "I have, John. But a lot of good it's doing. We had company the other night, and he told my friend that she smelled like rotten eggs and soy sauce, right to her face! I sent him straight to his room, took his video games away, and grounded him for a month, and all he had to say for himself was that it was true! But it doesn't even MATTER whether it's true. He just needs to learn that it's not OK to sniff people, and it's DEFINITELY not OK to comment on how they smell! John, I'm going to need your help with this one, because I had to go talk to the principal. They understand that he's an omega, but there's only so much they're going to be able to tolerate, before they're forced to suspend him. The fact that he's a new omega is the ONLY reason they haven't labelled the way he's constantly sniffing the girls that sit near him as sexual harassment, and dealt with it accordingly. He's going to get himself in bigger trouble than I'll be able to get him out of." John closed his eyes. "Put him on the phone..."

Girls became an issue. Maybe not quite so much of an issue as they had been with Dean, but big enough of one. He'd already gone through regular puberty when he presented, and being a presented omega only kicked all of it up dozens of notches. Adam was still a good student, but almost everything ELSE in his life seemed to take a backseat to all the distracting GIRLS everywhere. Kate found herself lecturing him almost daily on why he shouldn't stare, why he shouldn't sniff. Adam TRIED not to, he really did. "I know, Mom, but pretty girls, they smell SO good. How am I supposed to help it? Kind of not fair..." 

John dealt with a slightly DIFFERENT aspect of it one weekend, when he and Dean came to visit. They were back in the room after shooting practice (that was still secret from Kate) and supper. (Getting Kate to agree to let Adam keep a knife was difficult enough; he wasn't going to tell her about the GUNS!) John had gone into the bathroom, and come out to find Dean and Adam hunched with interest over something. John looked over his shoulder as he washed his hands. "Whatcha got there, boys?" They jumped and scrambled to hide whatever it was under a pillow. "Nothin'!" "Not a thing, Dad!" (Yeah. Sure. Like THAT didn't raise any suspicions.) John rolled his eyes and dried his hands. "What is it?" A nervous giggle from Adam. Dean shifted to sit on the pillow they'd hid whatever it was under. "Nothin'. Just some shit we're looking at." John walked over and stuck a hand out. "Then it's probably something I need to see, too. Hand it over." Dean squirmed. "Aw, come on, Dad. Privacy. Our business." John snapped his fingers. "Said hand it over." Dean sighed. "ADULT, Dad..." John just looked at him. "Dean. You're an omega. I'm only about four times as strong as you. I CAN just move you and take it." Dean frowned. "Oh, that's just wrong. Using designation differences against your own sons? That's just low, Dad." John gave him a LOOK. "I said let me see. Must be some reason you're hiding it, and I seriously doubt it's a good one. So give it up." Dean huffed. "Da-" John didn't even let him finish, but just shoved him over and grabbed the mystery item out from under his butt.

"PORNOGRAPHY?! You're showing Adam girly mags?" John's tone of voice sent both boys' heart-rates up, and left Dean floundering for a moment. "Uh, no? I mean, I didn't plan to. We just found it!" The look on John's face would have wilted ceramic flowers. "You just FOUND it..." Adam spoke up. "We did, Dad. It was behind the bed." John's eyes flitted between them both. "Behind the bed. How would you just FIND a girly mag behind the bed?" Dean sighed and shrugged. "Dropped my phone. It slid back there, so we pulled the bed out to get to it. And there it was." Adam nodded in all earnest sincerity. John sighed, relaxed, and launched into the same talk he'd given a few years before, when he'd caught Dean and Sam with a similar magazine. About how the girls in those pictures weren't always treated entirely... professionally, and sometimes not well at all. About how women, even the jaw-droppingly gorgeous ones, weren't just things to look at and lust over, but were people's daughters, sisters, friends, maybe even mothers. "You like women and the way they look? That's fine. That's normal, healthy. Stuff like this, though, encourages you to more than just LOOK at women. Encourages men to THINK of women in certain ways. Ways that decent men don't. Women aren't art pieces to gawk at, they're people. Human beings to deal with and respect. So you find any more like this, you just tear 'em up and throw 'em away." He popped them both with the rolled-up magazine, before doing just that. "Not like you need that stuff, anyway. Good-looking boys like mine can go find themselves ACTUAL girls to be with, 'stead of just staring at PICTURES of girls." Dean grinned, while Adam scratched his head. "So... you'd be OK with that?" John looked at him uncertainly. "Be OK with what?" Adam shrugged. "Real girls?" John closed his eyes and rubbed his nose. "I mean, you DID give me that box of condoms-" "Adam." "Yes, sir?" Pause. "Only if you must. You're still young. Try to hold off if you can." John sighed. "Just... use your head, son. The one on your shoulders."


	41. Accidents and Casualties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, after a year's hiatus, I AM BACK TO WORKING ON THIS STORY! To anyone that may have been disappointed by the ridiculously long delay - apologies, apologies. To say that real life was a doozy would be the understatement of the decade - I lost a job and spent months searching desperately for another. We moved about seven times, and were literally homeless for a short while. Not to mention all the smaller challenges that kept popping up along the way, like the lice my kiddo came back from school with TWICE, and the very important paperwork that was lost during one of the moves, and took a veritable act of Congress to get replaced. But probably most fun of all was The Great Bedbug Infestation. Use your imagination, 'cause yeah. It was every bit that bad...
> 
> BUT! All of that is over and done with, and my life is now reasonably stable and back to only it's USUAL level of chaos, so I shall recommence with this story, which I have no intentions of giving up on. I did actually post some OTHER little things during all the melee, but this particular story was hitting just a little too close to home to fool with, so it got set aside. But here I go taking it up, again...

...but all that was then. And so the three Winchester men made their way up to Windom, where Adam, naturally, was overjoyed to see Sam again. John arranged with Kate to keep the kid for an entire week, spending nights at the motel, dropping him off at school each morning and picking him back up each afternoon. It was a good week, but of course conversation eventually came 'round to the way Sam's time at Stanford had ended. John just lay there and pretended to be interested in the Weather Channel, as Sam told the whole sorry story in the world's most miserable monotone...

Adam was appropriately horrified, of course. But with the story told, Sam commiserated with, and Dean congratulated on being the hero of the day that dragged Sam out, there was really nothing else to say on the subject. So after a moment of contemplative silence, the board game from that Christmas years before was dragged out of the trunk, and they were all glad for something to get distracted with!

The rest of the week went by in pleasant-enough fashion. But it was plain that Sam was still bothered by everything. His silence and stiff posture as they rolled west on I-90 was nearly as upsetting as the hissy fit that he'd thrown eight years before...

As weeks went by, John grew progressively more concerned about his second son. As an adult, Sam no longer threw fits, and he DID seem genuinely happy for a short moment here and there. But a dark cloud of sorts had cast its shadow, determined to follow the poor fellow around. John worried that it might only get WORSE after Sam suffered his way through yet another heat, without the girl he'd gotten used to having there to help him through them... 

But then the wreck happened, and life changed for all of them.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

They were headed out to somewhere just outside of Jefferson City, where John had yet another alpha to go deal with, when an eighteen-wheeler plowed into them.

It happened so incredibly fast; no one saw it coming. The truck slid in from nowhere, all but flattening both vehicles, and rendering both John and Dean unconscious. Sam was still awake, but dizzy and disoriented. Someone else on the road must have called 911, because the next thing he knew, paramedics were pulling them from the wreckage.

Sam stared in confused horror at his unresponsive and blood-caked family. What had happened?! One moment Dean had been singing along with the radio, and then... and then... this?

Sam was too dazed to really think, so he just let one of the paramedics lead him over to an ambulance and wrap his cut arm. He answered their questions in a haze as he watched them attach IVs and heart monitors to his unmoving father. He gave them all of their names, ages, and known allergies, told them about John's insurance...

Then they were at a hospital. It had been determined that nothing was really wrong with Sam other than some relatively minor cuts and bruises, and a really good bump on the head. He was quickly cleaned and bandaged before being told to just relax and rest. He couldn't, though. He HATED hospitals. He'd never wanted to step foot in another one again, after Jessica! His relentless pacing and constant fidgeting drew several nurses' attention, including one who noticed his eyes, that he was an omega. Moving quickly, she pinned him down in a seat with one hand. "You're OK. We need you to sit down and stay back, while we take care of your family. They'll be alright, too, once you calm down enough to let us do our jobs." She nodded and gave instructions to another nurse, before turning back to Sam, who glared at her something fierce, debating whether or not he should try to fight her off. She patted his shoulder with her other hand. "You're all in good hands, so just calm down, now. Sit here, and we'll bring you a tray of something to eat. I'll send a social worker in to talk to you just as soon as we make sure your brother is stable. OK?" She continued to pet at him for a moment, until he sighed, slumped, and nodded. He was still upset, (and annoyed at her for treating him like a child), but... 

"OK, then. Look, here's you a tray. We'll check on you again in a few moments, but we need you to sit here and stay out of the way. OK?" He nodded. "Good. It'll be alright. I promise." She stroked his hair again before walking off, quietly explaining to the other nurses, "Did you see his eyes? He's an omega. One of my cousins was one. Poor things are so jumpy, they don't handle stress well at all. You just have to stay calm with them and take control of things, touch them and settle them down..."

Sam squinted his eyes at her explanation of "omeganess", and poked absently at the food on the tray in front of him. He wasn't upset because he was an omega - he was upset because he wanted answers! Why weren't they awake? What exactly was wrong? He was only just sensible enough to realize that he probably DID need to wait a few minutes, that someone would surely tell him what was going on as soon as they could. He couldn't make himself eat more than a few bites, so he just sat and watched the flurry of medical professionals buzzing in and out, constantly adjusting and readjusting tubes and cords and machinery...

He had no idea how much time had passed when he glanced up to find the promised social worker standing over him with a clipboard - a tall, thickset woman with an eye-catching necklace of chunky lime-green beads. "Mr. Winchester? Hi. I'd like to talk with you, if that's okay." Sam nodded. She sat down beside him. "You're Samuel?" He nodded again, eyes flicking between the two beds, where neither of the other two Winchesters had moved, yet. She continued, "One of the nurses said she thought you could use some support. I know this must all be stressful, but I can assure you that this is definitely one of the best hospitals in the area. Everyone here will do the absolute best they can for your family. I'm sure you'd rather speak to the doctors, but they're busy just now. They'll be back in to tell you specifics as soon as possible, but in the meantime, I can at least tell you that they're stable. Everyone out at the nurses' station says that until they get blood test results and MRIs back, there's nothing else to do, but they look like they SHOULD be safe. No one is expected to die. That's the official medical opinion, as shared with me two minutes ago." She smiled gently at him. 

Sam let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Ah. OK, then. That's good..." He closed his eyes and sank back in his seat a minute, before opening them again to look at the social worker still sitting beside him. "Thanks." She smiled. "You're welcome. But Samuel, is it alright if I ask you a few questions? Information that may make things easier." He nodded. "Sure. It's, um, it's Sam." She nodded. "Alright then, Sam. Now, this is your family? Your father and brother?" He nodded. "Well, do you have any OTHER family you need to get in touch with? Anyone else we should contact? I'd be glad to help with that." Sam paused, then got so excited he nearly flipped his chair, his brain whirring into action. "YES! Bobby, I mean, Robert. Robert Singer. I can..." He patted his pockets, and realized his cell phone was missing, probably still at the scene of the wreck. "I, um. I know his number. I should call him. He was expecting to hear from Dad later this evening." The social worker pulled a phone out of a clip on her hip. "You can take it out in the hall or into the bathroom, if you need privacy."

Sam didn't bother moving, but just snatched it and started dialing. A gruff voice answered. "Who's this?" Sam almost laughed with relief. "Bobby! This is Sam. Dad was gonna call you, but he can't. We're-" He froze for a second, the full weight of the situation only just then REALLY hitting him. "We're, um, we're in a hospital. There was a... a wreck. They're-" He shoved the phone back at the social worker and hurried off to the bathroom.

He slammed the door closed and leaned back against it, listening to the social worker explain the situation to the bewildered man on the phone. His stupid emotions were flying everywhere, ninety miles a minute. He took a deep breath, telling himself that it was OK, they weren't dying, there was no need to get this upset. They'd be fine - everyone said so! They'd wake up soon, it would be fine, and he REALLY needed to get a grip. He wiped at his eyes and shakily walked back out to meet the social worker, who eyed him with concern. Sam looked down. Yeah, he really needed to get a grip. No sense in making everyone think he was a hysterical child, instead of an adult that should be able to handle a situation. But it was almost too much. He was still dealing with the whole Jessica thing, and now THIS...

The social worker motioned for him to sit down beside her again, and handed him a Styrofoam cup full of ice water. "The gentleman you called? Bobby? He said he'd be here just as soon as he could, probably in about ten hours." Sam nodded, more grateful to hear that than he would ever be able to convey. "In the meantime, if there's anything you need to be safe and/or comfortable, please let us know. One of the nurses noticed that you're an omega, and suspected that may be part of the reason for your agitation? I know this is all a terrible shock, but please tell us how we can help you." Sam stared at her, unsure whether to feel grateful, or offended. "I just survived what was obviously a really bad car crash, and my family's unconscious. I'm pretty sure anyone would be agitated..." The social worker just nodded. "Of course. That's natural. It's a lot to deal with. I'm just letting you know that I'm here to help, if you need anything beyond actual medical care. Whether it's information, referrals to community agencies, a warm blanket and a cup of tea, or just someone to talk to, please don't hesitate to ask. It's what I do for a living." And with that, she handed him a business card, patted his shoulder, and strolled off to speak with one of the nurses. 

Sam just glanced at it, before staring over at his still-unconscious family. He absentmindedly filled out the forms that someone from the billing office brought him, then went right back to staring...

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up to an entire room full of doctors, nurses, and various specialists hovering and prodding at the two in the beds. After a few bleary seconds of blinking to get his bearings, Sam leaned forward to listen closely...

Dean would be fine. He, too, had suffered a hard knock on the head, but also had a few broken ribs and a severely sprained left elbow, would need 38 stitches to various gashes, and was slightly dehydrated from blood loss. Aside from a few scars and an elbow that he'd have to baby for weeks, he would be fine in a couple days. That he wasn't any worse was a huge relief.

But then there was John. It was their father that had been in the lead, and taken the full-fledged brunt of the initial impact. The Impala had been pretty well totaled, but the truck was barely even recognizable as a truck, anymore - it had been folded like origami, warped into an unsalvagable mass of scrap. The emergency responders had actually been shocked that he was still alive, given the awkward angle of his neck when they pulled him out. Which was the reason for all the specialists, because John's neck and back had broken in not one, not two, but EIGHTEEN different places. (This in addition to an uncounted score of cuts and bruises all over.) The team of doctors were debating the best way to reset a certain displaced vertebra without snapping the ones just above and below, both of which had a spiderweb-ish roadmap of hairline fractures.

Sam's heart sank as he tried to follow the highly technical discussion. He had been preparing to study law, not medicine, but he understood enough of it that it was plain that his father would never be able to function quite the same, again. The doctors felt reasonably sure that they would be able to mend him up well enough that he wouldn't be completely paralyzed, but were debating whether he would ever be able to walk again. Even if he could, there would still be years of physical therapy ahead, and John's motion would always be halting...

It took a few minutes, but eventually one of the doctors stepped forward to shake Sam's hand, and repeat in layman's terms the gist of what Sam had already pieced together. Sam, of course, asked all the right questions to get as much extra information out of them as possible. He was shown the x-rays and MRIs, and had all the surgical options that were being considered explained to him. Completely overwhelmed, Sam kept himself together just enough to give his OK to the procedure least likely to involve complications, even though it would take a bit longer and cost a few thousand dollars more than the other options.

After having Sam sign several different forms, they wheeled John out to surgery, anxious to begin as soon as possible. Sam pulled one leg up and hugged his knee while he stared at Dean, not at all sure that he wouldn't get sick. The actual injury-induced nausea was gone by then, but the STRESS was still there. He could only hope he'd made the right decision. For half a second, he was angry at Dean for being out of it. Dean was the oldest, wasn't HE supposed to take care of stuff like this? Not leave it all on HIS shoulders... He shook his head, knowing he was being irrational. Bobby had said he was coming, right? He didn't know how much time had passed, but he hoped he'd be there soon...

Poor Sam was a jittery mess. He tried to take another nap, but sleep refused to help him out any. And so he paced. Eventually, after seven cups of coffee, two trips to the bathroom, and a heart-stopping moment when Dean groaned and half rolled over (but didn't fully wake), Bobby DID finally arrive. "Sam. Hey." Sam nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to run over and hug the man. "Bobby! I am SO sorry to bother you, from so far away. But Dad was gonna call you later, I didn't want you to wonder-"

Bobby shut THAT up in a hurry. "No, somethin' happens, you call me. Did exactly what your daddy's been telling you to do since you were a sprout. I'da been pissed if I'd found out later you hadn't." Sam VISIBLY relaxed. "Ah, Bobby. You have no idea how glad I am you're here. I don't even know where to start." Bobby looked around. "How's about you start with where your daddy's at? I see Dean there..." Sam's face fell. "Surgery. He's been back there a couple hours, at least. I'm not too sure how long. He broke his neck, his back, in about eighteen different places. They think they'll be able to fix him up at least well enough that he shouldn't be paralyzed, but they... they didn't hold out very much hope of him being able to walk well anymore. MAYBE someday, but not anytime soon."

After a long pause, Bobby looked down, shook his head, and swore. "I'll be damned. I hate that. One of the best hunters in the business, one of the best EVER, probably. Ain't gonna be no replacing John Winchester out in the field. That's one hell of a blow." Sam looked at him skeptically. "They said he should be fine, otherwise. But you talk like he's already dead." Bobby just shook his head again. "To huntin'? Might as well be. If he can't even walk, then he's done. Oh, he can still answer phones, do research, still help out training new guys. But his days as an actual hunter are over. As the man's personal friend, I'm proud he's still among the living. But I'm gonna have to call Harvelle, get her to send somebody else out Nebraska way next week, and you know her - she'll see to it everybody else knows 'fore morning. He's gonna be missed out there somethin' fierce. I couldn't BEGIN to tell ya."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to offer his help somehow, but he wasn't sure what all he could even do....

There really wasn't much else to say, and Bobby wasn't that big a talker, anyway. So they just sat in silence, watching Dean as he slept, waiting for them to bring John back once the surgery was over. Sam was a bundle of nerves, twitching oddly every so often. Bobby wasn't overly happy about the wait, either, but Sam's constant fluttering was going to drive him up the wall. He had some idea what to do about it, though. Touch. Talk. Settling the boys down may have been a John Winchester specialty, but Bobby had babysat them often enough as youngsters to learn how to manage it. He laid one hand on the back of Sam's neck, speaking softly. "Just settle yer ass down, Sam. They're gonna be just fine. No sense in gettin' riled up. Nothin' for it but just to set here and wait. So quit the damn bouncing, OK?" The actual words used were rougher than his tone, which he took special pains to keep low and soft, gentle. Sam took a shaky breath and hid his face in Bobby's shoulder a moment, before whispering, "I just... what if they're NOT? And why isn't Dean up, yet? They said he had a concussion, but that it didn't appear to be THAT bad. So why's he out? Bobby, I can't-"

Bobby patted Sam's leg and interrupted. "Don't rightly know, but you think your daddy wants you out here frettin'? No. So you just hush, alright?" He kept a hand on Sam's neck, patting at him. He wasn't sure how to ease them QUITE as well as John did, but at least he could get Sam quiet and still, and that was good enough, for the time being...

Another couple cups of coffee later (with splashes of liquor added, out of the little flask Bobby'd smuggled in), and Dean finally awoke. He opened his eyes slowly with a groan, causing Sam to leap up and rush to his side, sniffing at him. Dean did a bit of sniffing, himself, wide eyes under furrowed brows advertising his thorough confusion. "What the hell?", he rasped. "Fucking... hospital?" Sam nodded, torn between laughing and crying. "Yeah. Was a wreck." Dean tried to take that in for a second. "A wreck... A CAR wreck?" Sam nodded. Dean started to look worried. "What even... Didn't total my baby, did I?" Sam DID laugh, then, albeit nervously. "Um. Yeah?" Now Dean was pissed. "Aw, no..."

Dean tried to sit up, but quickly gave up on that idea. "AHH! The hell... how bad WAS it?" He looked around the room, panting, and spotted his visitor. "Bobby?" Bobby nodded. "Wouldn't try to get up just yet. We're told you busted some ribs. Best you lay there and let 'em heal, some." Dean settled back with a sigh of resignation, before looking around again. "Where's Dad?"

Sam swallowed, and explained what he could of the situation. A nurse that came in a minute later filled in the rest, and told them that their father would be wheeled back up within a half hour or so, as soon as they were sure the anesthesia was out of his system. She was thrilled to see Dean finally awake after so many hours, and promised him a tray of food absolutely as soon as someone from the cafeteria could bring one...

But it wasn't explaining to Dean that was the problem. It was explaining to JOHN, once he was awake and fully conscious. Dean's aggravation at destroying his prized vehicle was nothing, compared to John's barely constrained, fearful rage.

"I WILL BE WALKING OUT OF THIS HOSPITAL! I have to, I HAVE to. You think I'm going to sit around and be a helpless invalid? I've got three sons to protect, three omega sons that I can't just leave to fend for themselves. I WILL BE WALKING OUT OF THIS HOSPITAL!"

And on and on he raged at the poor nurses, until Bobby'd heard enough of it. "What you'll be doing is shuttin' your mouth, and lettin' these ladies tend to ya in peace! My god, it ain't their fault. Yellin' how you gotta take care of your sons, and you're the one actin' like a damn child. Hell, you might be walkin' again some day soon enough. Doctors said you might. But it ain't gonna be today, and it ain't gonna be next week, and raisin' a damn ruckus ain't gonna speed it up none. And look, done got ME a-hollerin', too..."

Well, that shut him up. He continued to keep the entire floor's staff walking on eggshells for some time, though, with the evil eye he gave them all. 

A week, a week and a half, two weeks went by. Dean had been officially released and was himself again (aside from the elbow and ribs he still had to be easy with), and was up and about harassing young nurses and bemoaning his car. With his family alive and on the mend, Sam was keeping himself busy reading absolutely everything he could get his hands on about spinal injuries and mobility, and discussing it all with Adam, who was upset that his mother wouldn't bring him out there to visit. John promised him that he was alright, and that they'd get together again just as soon as he was able. In the meantime, Bobby and John (who couldn't do much of anything yet but lay there and eat what was held up to his mouth) spent hours in companionable silence, that John broke periodically with ill-tempered muttering.

Bobby harrumphed and tried to reassure him. "Relax, John. Boys are fine. You've even talked to the other out in Minnesota, so you know he's fine, too. They're ALL fine." He paused and looked out into the hallway, towards the nurses' station. "Well, 'cept Dean. He ain't gonna be fine long, 'cause I'm fixin' to pop him one for ya here in a minute, he keeps botherin' them gals tryin' to work..." John just gave a mildly amused huff. 

He sighed deeply, a few minutes later. "Grateful to you, Bobby. Won't ever be able to say thanks, enough." Bobby nodded. "Be owing me 'til the end of days. Just addin' this onto the tab." Another few moments of silence...

John stared into space with a deep, worried frown, speaking so quietly that it might almost have been to himself. "No telling how long I'll be laid up, not working. What are we supposed to do?" Bobby shifted and adjusted his cap, stating nonchalantly, "Stay with me, of course." John looked at him sharply, but Bobby just shrugged. "Hell, why not? They got doctors and therapists and what-not up my way, same as they've got here. And I got a big enough house with rooms and to spare, nobody currently using 'em but a few bugs, maybe." John frowned. "Talk sense, Bobby. I'm... I'm a cripple now, not like I can work with you out in the car yard like before. Wouldn't be nothin' but a burden on you, and you've been too good a friend for too long now to do that to." Bobby just raised an eyebrow. "Where else you gonna go? Might have just enough in insurance to pay for a few months of rehab rest home. Then what? Ain't even got no vehicle to sleep in, now. Reckon you'd have better luck lookin' after yer boys layin' up in some homeless shelter, or in a cardboard box under a bridge? Hell, no. Not while I got means to do better." Bobby held up a hand to cut off whatever John started to open his mouth and come back with. "Naw. I ain't hearing it. It's happening. Y'all're comin' home with me, 'less you intend to be the biggest damn fool I ever met and REFUSE..."

The two men stared each other down in a battle of wills. It was John that wavered first. "You don't even know what you're getting into. I say yes, and it won't be three months before you're regretting it." Bobby snorted. "Oh, think it'll take THAT long?" He waved it off. "Hell, I already get a headache ever time I hear your damn name. But I'll be a mighty long time forgivin' you if you turn me down, John."

John stared back another moment or two, before flicking his eyes over to the wall. (After all, wasn't like he could turn his head, yet!) He sighed. "Fine. But only for my boys' sakes. The minute I'm outta traction, though, we're finding me something useful to do." Bobby took a pull from his flask and nodded. "There's a man."

Silence for another hour or so, 'til John mumbled, "Gonna regret it, Bobby. It's too much." Bobby just propped his feet up and closed his eyes. "Too much ain't nothin' new."


	42. Dozens of Weekends at Bobby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was personal, for me. What happens to John here is what happened to MY dad. My family, too, struggles to keep up the morale of a man who USED to work 70+ hours a week, but is now accomplishing something major if he actually makes it from the living room to the bathroom by himself. But just as my dad is still an important part of OUR lives, so John will continue to be an important element of this story - mobility issues, be damned.

It wound up taking almost a month, before John had partially healed enough to even turn his head a little bit, and still another month or so before he could tolerate being propped up for just a moment, and he was finally released. Bobby (who it turns out had WAY more in savings than anyone might have guessed) had chosen to spend all of that time with the Winchesters, keeping an eye on Sam and Dean. When asked why, he grunted something about damn grown men not needing babysitters, but how he knew John would have stayed too upset to mend, otherwise. Grateful as he was, John still felt the need to ask how much it was hurting him, to be away so long. Bobby just shrugged. 

"Can get in and out of the salvage-yard industry anytime; slow but steady demand. You know how it is. If I ain't there to sell somebody a muffler they want one week, there'll be somebody else wantin' a muffler AND a door the next. Business ain't goin' nowhere. Just means I ain't gonna have the extra to be goin' on no fancy cruises or nothin' no time soon." 

Once they were all back up in Sioux Falls, though, John's sons worked to help him recoup that loss. No one had to explain to them just HOW MUCH they owed the man that had taken them all in and been better than family to them. They were more than glad to put shoulders to the wheel for one of the best friends they knew they'd ever have.

They saw and heard from plenty OTHER old friends, too. Harvelle had, indeed, alerted the entire North American 'hunting' community to what had happened, and there was no shortage of visitors, for a time. Half of everyone John Winchester had ever dealt with while hunting with showed up on Bobby's doorstep at some point, bearing news, beer, and condolences... 

And, of course, marveling at how John's sons HAD turned out to be omegas, after all. Most of them hadn't laid eyes on the Winchester boys in years, and some not since they had been small children, so of course there were all sorts of comments along the lines of: "My Lord! Just look at them! Little Sammy's done bigger than you, John! When on earth did they spurt up like THAT?" And: "Aren't so little any more, are they? Got a couple of grown MEN on your hands, now. So what are you guys up to these days, anyway? Probably not yo-yos and video games, anymore, huh?" Or: "Could they walk and talk much more like you, John? Those are definitely your boys... And I heard you had another one, too! When did you ever have time to actually hunt?" But mostly variations on: "Well, look at that. Gold rings... I'd HEARD that both of your boys had presented, but to SEE it...? God bless you, John. I don't know how you've done it."

John, of course, was always glad to see people, if only because his life had taken a turn for the boring. He could sit up (with help) for short periods at a time, but he certainly couldn't walk, let alone do any actual, physical LABOR. Which meant that most time not taken up with visits to doctors and physical therapists was either spent in bed, or on Bobby's couch. There was television, of course, and Bobby had enough old books to start his own library. They took the local newspaper, and Dean set his father up a stereo system in his bedroom, supplying him with an enormous collection of CDs and cassette tapes, both. But not doing much of anything still ate at him. All the laying around didn't feel natural to him, didn't feel RIGHT. He'd always been an active fellow, always been a worker. Being so useless and dependent bothered him no end...

Well, he FELT useless, but Bobby argued that point with him many a time. He WAS drawing a disability check, half of which he insisted on giving to Bobby each month to offset the higher utilities, with three more people in the house. And John actually DID do a few little things here and there to help out as he could. He insisted on doing most of the paperwork for the salvage yard, since he couldn't actually WORK in it, anymore. Easy things, that didn't take long or require the use of anything but his hands. He still felt like a waste, though, especially since he couldn't even take his sons out on morning runs, anymore. He just looked out the window at them, as they ran their own laps around the property perimeter. A few more months went by, before he could even use Bobby's old wheelchair, from years back when he'd been in an accident, himself. He was grateful that Bobby had kept it, though, because at least then he could be rolled out into the yard, to watch Sam and Dean's afternoon shooting practices that they still kept up with...

But he'd never felt like he was failing his sons as much as he did when they went into heat. Because they needed CARE then, care that he couldn't really give them, anymore. He couldn't lift them, couldn't even bend down to them. He hated it. He hated having to accept Bobby's help with THAT, especially. Bobby had been a very good "uncle" of sorts to his boys for years, but heats were an intensely private, personal matter. When Dean found Sam going into early heat out by one of the sheds, it was BOBBY that he had to call to help haul him in the house, and that grated on John something awful. Tending to his boys in that state was HIS responsibility, not anyone else's!

He didn't feel any better about it when it came Dean's time, either, because Dean and Adam's heats always coincided. That had always made for an especially chaotic few days twice a year, but John had actually been grateful for the timing. He would infinitely rather stress out about them both at once, rather than have to go through the same mess SIX times a year! It had taken some doing and talking, but he had managed to persuade Kate to let him have the boy for most of his heats, so he could keep his eyes on BOTH of them. But he'd always been there in Windom, anyway, whether Kate let him take Adam, or not. The very minute Dean could stand without falling over, he'd had him shower and then loaded him up to go finish recovering with Adam, the two sitting there curled into each other, looking and feeling half-dead as John and Kate plied them with food and drink. He couldn't do that now, though, because he couldn't even sit up long enough to make a car trip to Minnesota feasible, yet. Kate certainly wouldn't be taking the time off work to bring his youngest boy up to him, so there was nothing for it. Adam had wondered if he could maybe take a plane up there and back, but both John AND Kate had shut that idea down, and quickly. And so those two had their heats completely apart, something they hadn't done since Adam's first. John stayed on the phone with Kate for a lot of it, and then just as soon as Dean had even half his brain functioning again, he insisted on calling Adam. It was a good thing that Dean had gotten a phone with unlimited minutes, because they spent nearly twelve hours on a single call. Not that they really even talked about much of anything, mostly just laying there resting and listening to the other breathe, offering a few random thoughts now and then. John promised Adam again that he would be out there to visit him just as soon he could, and he continued to call at least once a week, and send Kate money each month. He'd never been able to do much for that child, at all, and now he could do even LESS...

But as much as the inactivity bothered John? After only a few months, it became clear that it was bothering Dean even MORE. Though it certainly wasn't for lack of things to do! Bobby's salvage yard ALWAYS had something that needed doing, and he found plenty to keep them busy inside, as well. In a household of four, there was always cooking, cleaning, and laundry to keep up with. And, of course, there was the Impala. Utterly totaled as it had been, Dean still wanted it, so Bobby had paid to have it towed all the way back up to South Dakota, and nearly all of his spare time that he didn't spend working for Bobby or keeping his dad company, Dean spent repairing and restoring his car. The damage had been extensive, and it took more than a couple months of tedious work, but Dean insisted on staying diligent, so soon enough he had it up and running as good as ever. But no sooner did he fix it, than he wanted to DRIVE it...!

Dean loved Bobby. The man had always been good to them, and Bobby's place had always been one of Dean's favorite destinations. But he'd never imagined LIVING there full-time. Bobby had offered to let him stay when he'd turned 18, but Dean had turned it down. Not once since in all the years since he'd lost his mother had Dean ever stayed put ANYWHERE for longer than maybe three months - and even that was rare, because a stay somewhere seldom lasted more than 3-4 weeks, and sometimes not even that long. The need to keep going, keep rolling, keep trucking had settled into his very heart and soul, was now a fundamental part of his psyche. He NEEDED to keep moving, almost as bad as Sam had needed to settle!

...HAD needed to settle. Though Sam didn't really know what he wanted, anymore. He, too, was fond of Bobby, but too many life-threatening and life-ALTERING events in too close succession had shifted something in him, so that he really didn't care much anymore where they went, or how long they stayed. The relationship with Jessica ending the way it had meant that settling down had lost much of its appeal. He certainly didn't MIND settling down, but it just wasn't a priority, anymore. He could go or he could stay, it was all the same to him. All he really cared about anymore was staying close to his family. No longer the self-assured, self-determining young man he had been, he had lost interest in nearly everything except staying near to his father and brother. 

John could see all this, but what could he do? Nothing, that's what. A "good day" for John now meant one in which he could sit upright for more than 15 minutes, without having to take extra pain pills. There was almost nothing he could do about ANYTHING, anymore. And so he lay awake late into the night, staring at his soundly-sleeping sons, hoping against all hope that they'd never NEED him.


End file.
